On Pines and Needles
by Joby87
Summary: Teenchester. Young Dean and Sam never thought that a random act of nature would destroy their house and have them struggling to survive. Now it's a race against time for Dean to get to Sam in time before it's too late! Hurt Sam. Hurt/big brother Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys, it's been awhile. This is a new fic that I just very recently came up with an idea for. I don't know if this idea has been posted before, so if it has, whoops! Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, nor any other supernatural thing, that all belongs to Mr. Kripke. I'm just messing around with them a bit. This is a survival fic, with plenty of Hurt Sam and Hurt/Big Brother/Savior Dean. Read on and let me know what you think!  
**  
It happened so quick, it was practically impossible to see it coming. One minute Dean was in the shower, lathering soap over his maturing pre-adult body, and the next something huge and heavy crashed through the ceiling and wall, knocking him into the bottom of the tub, cascading his world into darkness.

* * *

"Ugh...what happened?"

It may have been minutes, it may have been hours when the pitter patter of water spurting from the broken shower nasal stirred him. He opened his eyes to complete darkness, the howl of the wind from the tumultuous storm outside reverberating eerily inside the tub, assaulting his eardrums. Slowly coming to his senses, he became aware that half of the tub was filled with water and was now cold. A throbbing pain pounded just above his left earlobe, and it stung terribly when he prodded it. His body shivered from the frigidness and possibly the shock the crash had on his sensitive nerves causing his teeth to chatter violently.

Still too dark to see anything, Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position, only to be impeded by something huge, dark, and sticky.

"What the hell?"

Confused, he raised his hands to investigate what on earth had him trapped inside the small rectangle. He pulled back rapidly when a terrible needle-like spike of pain shot through his right index finger. His eyes widened with alarm at the loud groans the porcelain walls voiced, apparently strained under the objects' massive weight. After sucking on his finger for a second, Dean made another attempt. Quickly, he positioned his hands somewhere on a pain-free spot on the object's rough surface and pushed against it with all his might. The thing didn't budge, it was too heavy. Alternatively latching onto what felt like a branch, Dean pulled at the object, feeling it become unattached. He felt around it and learned he grabbed off a bough of pine needles.

Meaning that he was trapped by a friggin tree. A tree had fallen through the house and was lying on top of the tub. _Of all places!_

It all made sense now. If he was correct, it had to be the tree that was stationed in the front lawn. The magnificent pine had looked a bit peaky a few days before, swaying a bit with the soft wind, only Dean was too preoccupied to admit to himself that he noticed it. If he was correct, there was a flash of lightning that occurred just before the loud thunderous crash. The lightning must've either struck the tree and caused it to fall conveniently on their little two-story rented house or God played a cruel game in estimating the tree's death a little early. Whatever it was, the truth remained that right now he was stuck in the tub and if he didn't get out soon, he was going to die either by hypothermia, or was going to be crushed to death when the tub finally succumbed to the tree's weight. Either which he was screwed. Unless...

A new feeling of hope sprouted in Dean's half-dazed mind, feeling more secure that his fifteen year old brother was around and could possibly help. But then the moment he thought of rescue, his hope was quickly replaced with a feeling of dread, realizing that Sam was in the boy's bedroom directly across from the bathroom doing homework and the tree stood directly outside their window.

Feeling the overwhelming sense of panic and the big-brother mode officially switching on, Dean pushed against the tree again more forcefully, feeling the need to find his brother. A guttural sound of anger escaped his lips when the tree again hadn't budged. He began to feel terrified.

"SAM," he yelled, cringing against the echoing ring his voice produced in the tub.

Silence.

"SAM," he cried again louder, holding his breath, praying that he would hear something.

"SA-," his cry cut short from some of the water filling inside his mouth. He spat some of it out, pushing once again against the tree, the overwhelming sense of fear for his brother's life and his own multiplying. He kicked out with his legs, and froze when he felt cold air. It felt colder than it was in the tub, and he lengthened his foot out more, only to realize that he was sticking his foot outside the tub. There was an exit!

The tree jostled from the heavy wind surrounding it causing the tub to creak even more. Hastily, Dean began maneuvering himself to the foot end of the tub, contorting his body tightly together, using the walls to get to the other side. His muscles screamed at the tight constriction he forced on his legs and back, but he bit his lip to stifle the oncoming protesting groans. Finally he was able to inch himself to the other end, noticing a small block open where the tree did not cover the aperture.

Half-lifting himself and peering out of the small block, Dean noticed the room was dark, and the tree had taken out the opposite wall; it had gone completely through the mid-section of the house. The wind and rain poured frantically into the opening, spraying him in the face with bits of leaves and twigs.

"Sonuvabitch," he grumbled, spitting out the wet debris. "SAM," he called again.

Still there was only silence and the whine of the wind.

_Damn it, no!_ The pervading fear that billowed under the surface now reached critical point and he scrambled to get out of the tub. The hole was small, even for his slender frame. But Sam was possibly in trouble, and no way was this going to stop him from getting to his little brother. Angling his right shoulder, he stuck his right arm out first latching onto the rim, then worked to get his other arm out. Once both hands were secured on the rim, he lifted himself, the rough bark scraping against his delicate skin. Gritting his teeth against the painful tears, he continued to raise himself.

He was nearly out. More than half of his body was protruding from the small hole, the only problem now was getting the rest of his body out. That part proved difficult as his arms were extended out to their fullest extent. Crouching on his toes and bending against the tree's large trunk, he slowly and achingly straightened out his long legs. His calve muscles and toes were twitching with unrelenting spasms at the effort. Dean found himself issuing out another series of groans and profane words, hardly able to control himself.

Leaning on the tree's trunk and using it to push the rest of himself out of the tub proved to be a bad idea. The tub creaked louder than usual and Dean felt the tree shift down. Instantly, the tub walls splintered and cracked, the trunk falling down when they caved in, splashing freezing water all over Dean, forcing him to slip and fall as well.

A loud involuntary yell escaped his lips when he felt a terrible searing pain shoot through the side of his ribcage causing his heart to briefly stop. His breath hitched. Fighting through it, he looked down and saw a large tear in his side torn open when he slid along the broken edge of the tub wall, a red watery solution flowing over the soaked floor. The pain mixed with anxiety forced him to smash his fist against the tree. Now he had a throbbing pain emanating from his palm. At least that would take his mind of the other pain.

Forcing himself up, he searched around the room. The shivers that coursed through his frame never waned. He carefully wrapped his arms around his midriff to try and retain whatever heat he could. Understanding that remaining stagnant and naked wasn't going to help the situation in the slightest. He looked around for his clothes. The room was still dark, but he could see a little due to the brief glimpses the moon would illuminate before retreating behind its prison wall of dark clouds. So far the tree lay stretched completely across the room, the door and its side trim left in shambles. Finding his fresh set of sweatpants and tee he set out before his shower on the toilet, he quickly pulled them on, careless if they set to his wet skin like a second skin. He hissed when the cut on his side flared at the pull of the fabric.

"Sam," he shouted into the dim darkness. "Sam, please answer me!"

"Dean!"

He froze upon hearing the choked call.

"Sam!"

"Dean."

There it was again. But it was more of a forced moan. Without hesitating, Dean rushed forward hopping over broken branches and bark scattered across the chipped tiled floor. He paused at where the door was supposed to be observing the damage and seeing that the tree was angled downward, its massive branches creating a mini-forest that consumed the entire hallway, blocking his path of getting into the bedroom. Some of the trees branches jutted out through the side walls.

"Sam," he called again. "Sam, I'm blocked. Are you okay?"

He strained his ears to hear his brother. For a second, there was nothing, then the sounds of stifled sobs reached his ear cavity. "Sam. Are you okay?" he hollered with a hint of panic.

More sobs sounded from the dark room, soon followed by the sound of Sam's anguished voice, "Dean, I-I'm...p-pinned."

That was the strike that rang the bell on Dean's panic high-striker. Dean ran into the tiny forest, pushing past the colossal branches and spiny boughs. Suddenly the tree shifted down some more, the floor creaking threateningly along with Sam's painful screams. _Oh shit!_ Dean realized he had to get off the trunk or it was going to fall through and cut the house in half. _That wouldn't be good!_ He jumped backwards back into the bathroom just as the screams died down.

"Hang on Sammy. I'm coming!" he yelled out.

There was no answer.

"Sam?"

Again, all he was met with was the persistent groaning of the floor and the symphony of the storm outside. It was deathly quiet in the bedroom. Dean's heart plummeted at the implication. 

**Okay guys, that's it for the first chapter. Tell me what you think. This is going to be a short fic, because this idea came to me and I wanted to play with it a little bit while I'm working on my other fic, _Chance is but another one of Fate's playmates._ It is a weechester fic and I'm currently having trouble with the first chapter. I keep rewriting it cuz I don't like it. Anyway, hopefully I will get that one up soon, but in the mean time, it's tree time. Also, if this story happens to offend anyone, I apologize. I understand that there have been accidents where trees have fallen on houses and people have been killed. So again no offense intended! Thanks for reading!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I want to say thanks for all the reviews, favs, and alerts so far. They make me ecstatically happy (which is redundant, I know!) Here is the new chapter and it is a bit longer, but it is in Sam's pov with a bit of backstory that will be pertinent for the rest of the story. Hope you enjoy!**

It started out as a normal day, or as a normal a day in Sam's case. The morning began with the usual short, but yet nasty argument with his dad with his brother serving as the referee. He couldn't quite fully comprehend why everything he says always escalates to a full on verbal brawn's match. All he had asked that morning was if John could wait another day before setting out on his current 'much-more-important-than-his-own-sons' hunt. But John had downright dismissed the request, refusing to hear the boy's plea.

According to his father, the current mission was there was a special problem up north that had to be dealt with and it was going to take him a few days at least. Meanwhile the boys were to just carry on with their normal routine: Sam was to attend school, come home in one-piece, do his chores and Dean was to pack whatever belongings they had. But once he returned, the boys were to quote-on-quote 'to be packed up, be in the car ready to go, and no excuses when I get home or I'll tan both your hides'.

As one would expect, it didn't sit well with Sam.

"But Dad, there's this thing..."

"Sam, there's a hunt that's been called to my attention and it has to be taken care of. What ever it is you want will just have to wait," John said to his youngest as he moved around the room making sure he had all his unique possessions before heading towards the door. Sam followed closely behind him.

"But Dad, please..."

"No," John half-shouted, pausing at the doorway, "Sam, you know why I can't. I have to go...People are in danger. Do you think whatever this thing is you want is more important than that?"

"No sir," Sam replied despondently.

"Good, now that we see eye to eye on this. We'll do whatever it is you want after I get back and we leave."

"No we won't," Sam countered, his tone having a bit of an edge to it, "It wouldn't make a difference, now would it? If it wasn't this hunt, there would be another hunt to go on. Anything I want to you doesn't matter!"

"Excuse me?" John's eyebrows rose to their highest peak, "I don't want to hear that from you ever again. I do care. I care about a lot of things, including you. And you know else, I have had enough of this backtalk. I am your father and I shouldn't be hearing..."

His own anger rising quickly, Sam spat, "You're not our father, just a drill sergeant. You don't care about us. You don't care about what we want..."

"That is enough Sam Winchester!" his father shouted, his face turning a bright shade of puce, "I will not tolerate your insubordinance!"

"You wouldn't have it any other way, would you?" he said icily, immediately hearing his brother groan.

And with that one fiery comeback, the whole place had gone ape-shit. Sam swore he had never seen his father move so quickly from the doorway dropping all of his belongings and grabbing Sam by his shoulders, his face contorted with maddening rage. But if Dean hadn't hopped up from his seat to pry his father's hands from his brother's body, Sam was sure he would've been knocked to the ground and be missing a few teeth. John stood held back by his eldest, glaring at his youngest with intense anger. It was apparent that his father had had enough of his teenage-angst ridden, retaliatory attitude.

Sam backed off panting heavily from shock and his abating anger, watching his father take a few tentative steps towards the door. Dean had backed off from pushing him away, remaining in place between the two upset Winchesters. Still glaring, John picked up his dropped possessions and walked out slamming the door behind him, causing the ramshackled house to shudder. A few seconds later, they both heard the start of their father's new truck, and the crunch of gravel as he drove away.

Sam looked away brooding. He could understand the no nonsense, no room for mistakes kind of attitude John sported; it was necessary for his particular occupation. And sometimes he could understand the man's short fuse, since Sam realized he also inherited it as well. But it was just one afternoon, that was all he had asked. He was sure that the ghost or whatever it was could've waited another day or so to be brutally extinguished.

Apparently not!

Truth was, the reason Sam wanted him to stay so bad was there was a school picnic being held in the park that afternoon, and every student was supposed to invite their family. Even though a part of Sam didn't want to reveal his small dysfunctional family to the rest of the school, another part of him was bound and determined to show that he had a family that cared; a family he didn't mind coming home to everyday; a family that loved him. He had been looking forward to this day for awhile, not wanting to spoil the surprise until the last minute, that way his father and brother would consider it and want to hang together for an afternoon...for once.

Guess things never really do go as they are planned!

Sam was far from calm after the door slammed shut. His anger at the situation tripled with each passing second. But most of all he was angry over the fact that John didn't give him a chance to explain why. Dean didn't either, as Sam could see from the wounded look on his face that his brother was upset. Not only did he nearly witness his brother's demised, but Sam had ruined Dean's chance of asking John if he could tag along. Not wanting to get into a sparring match with the only family member he felt that still cared, Sam left and waited out in the Impala, his brother's recent birthday gift.

And that also pissed him off too, his brother. Even though he was thankful that Dean was there to save the day, again; he couldn't quite understand his character flaws either. Why was it that his brother always agreed with the man? Dean had every right in this situation as any. He was stuck in the same predicament, traveling around the countryside, sometimes left behind, and ordered around like a dog. But Dean was different in that he followed orders without question. It was like he didn't want a life of his own. Like his life solely depended on being compliant and desperate for approval, not wanting to be a disappointment like Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, waiting for his brother. Sometimes he just didn't understand, and there was no one around to help him.

School turned out to be uneventful, as did the picnic. As everyone sat around with their families, Sam found himself desolate reading the latest edition of his English literature textbook under a large Maple tree. It bothered him at first, but now he didn't care. It wasn't worth stressing over it and giving himself gray hairs at the age of fifteen. Sometimes he would occasionally complain to himself, but even that didn't seemed to help in the slightest.

He turned and saw his closest friend of the last two months, Chris, playing with what appeared to be his five-year-old brother, running in circles from the little tyke. Chris's parents sat on a traditional blanket watching their children jovially, laughing and encouraging the little boy to go after their eldest. A wave of hurt and jealousy enshrouded Sam's mind, and he could feel his poorly built wall of stoicism begin to crumble. He hung his head down, accidentally allowing a couple of salty tears to fall. God, he felt so weak! No wonder his family treated him like so.

No words were exchanged when Dean came to pick him up. He slumped down in the passenger seat brooding, staring out the window as usual and Dean ignored it like he would normally do and drive the long thirty minutes it took to get to their house. But this time, the silence seemed different; it seemed stifling almost to the point of suffocation. It was so unbearable that Sam didn't wait for the Impala to come to a complete stop before he jumped out and stormed into the house, racing up to their bedroom and slamming the door shut.

He didn't care at that moment if he nearly broke the door. He didn't care if he destroyed the whole house. Today was certainly not his day and he didn't care who knew it. He fell onto his bed and remained there for the remainder of the evening, finding no motivation to move.

Night fell quickly along with the sounds of an oncoming storm. Dean had called him down for dinner at one point, but his only reply was he had too much homework to get through, even if his bag was left unopened. There was no point in doing it anyway, they were leaving in a few days. Like he had been for the last few hours, he laid on his stomach, staring mindlessly at the bed's headboard, glumly going over the events of the day in his head.

Unaware of him doing so, Sam fell into a light sleep.

The sound of crackling thunder roused him from his slumber. Startled, he glanced at the window and saw the splatter of raindrops and the heavy mosh-pit bouncing the tree's branches performed. This storm sure was a doozy! Lightning made the annoying job of illuminating the room in a bright flash of lilac every few seconds. Sam threw his head back into his pillow protecting his eyes from the horrible light. That's when he heard the sounds of the shower going and learned he must've slept for quite awhile. Dean's typical shower pattern was around midnight when it was close to bedtime.

His stomach roiled achingly, screaming in protest at the abuse forced on it for not eating. Suggesting that perhaps the best time to go downstairs was now while Dean was in the shower, that way he can keep his brooding pride. He was about to swing his legs off the bed when another bright flare of lightning flashed, momentarily consuming the room in a blinding light. A thunderous roar followed a split-second later causing the entire room and floorboard to quake. The sound of something whining caught his attention and before he knew what happened, he heard a loud crash and felt something massive land painfully on top of his legs; another heavy object slammed down across his back, pinning him to the bed.

The suddenness of the impact forced the air out of his lungs. Struggling to pull in some air, he cried out from the strain the weight put on the calves of his legs. Then his breath hitched. His eyes grew wide in panic. The thought of death terrified him. He wasn't ready to go just yet, especially with the way things were now. In his panicked mind, his arms thrashed at the bedside, pulling on the covers, trying to pull himself out from under the object's monstrous weight. His lips began to turn a light shade of blue. There was not a thing he could do to pull a single breath into his lungs. Without meaning to, his thrashing ceased and he stared wide-eyed at the opposite wall. Slowly his vision began to darken and he fell into a sweet painless oblivion.

* * *

He awoke sometime later hearing horrible groans. It took him a long minute to realize those groans were coming from him. Alarmed to see he was breathing; shallow, but still, he looked around attempting to discern the situation. The lamp from the desk in the far corner was knocked over, but it still shone brightly from the floor, cascading the room in a dim light. There he could see the bristled branches, and smell the sweetly odor of wet pine.

_A friggin tree. What the hell? This ain't funny!_

A terrible searing ache throbbed unmercifully in his legs and he was beginning to wonder if they were actually flattened. His groans soon became sobs. The tree's trunk laid on the bottom portion of his legs, it's rough exterior biting through the fabric of his jeans and into his skin; with one of it's long branches lying on Sam's back. Parts of his legs were becoming numb, and it horrified him further to think that if he didn't get out soon, the loss of circulation to those areas would cause him to lose them. He didn't want to be a gimp. Not when he desperately wanted to look good in his father's eyes and not be seen as a dependent.

"Dean," he cried out, his voice hoarse.

No answer.

"Dean!" He called out a little louder, but the constant brushing of the pine needles and the force of the wind probably had drowned out his calls.

The tree jostled some more adding extra pressure on his calves causing him to emit out involuntary whimpers. Still in panic mode, Sam reached forward and grabbed the edge of the headboard, using all his might to pull himself forward. The board squeaked and whined from the pressure. Sam pulled harder, screaming through clenched teeth.

The extra pressure was too much for the wooden headboard and it splintered and broke off, sending some unwanted splinters into Sam's fingers. Still holding onto the broken piece, Sam's head fell into his pillow, and he let out the longest, most frustrated and pained caterwaul he could. His body hadn't moved an inch. There was nothing else around he could use as leverage to pull himself out. He was so screwed!

_Where was Dean? _

Even though he was pissed at him, he never in his life wanted his brother than at that particular moment. Because he was becoming more consciously aware every second, the pain emanating from his shoulder and back flared exponentially. It was becoming mind-numbing!

Brushing away the tears that fell, Sam decided to try and release himself another way. He wiggled his legs to the best of his ability, the imprinted parts of the mattress giving way. Even though it pained him tremendously to squirm, it still meant that he had movement. Chucking away the wooden fragment, he reached for the bed frame beneath him and pulled, whilst wiggling his legs. It took several long and sweaty seconds, but he was able to work his right leg out. The other proved difficult as his tennis shoe seemed to have gotten caught on an edge of the tree's bark.

"Damn it," Sam cursed, pulling at his achy leg all the more. On accident, he twisted it sharply and heard a loud crack. He gasped, frozen in place, when a sharp twinge sprouted in his ankle producing a pulsating torment that traveled to the rest of his body. He screamed again into his pillow, wanting the perpetual agony to wane. More tears leaked out and he bit his lip until it became bloody.

Again, he was so screwed.

He may have contradicted himself at that moment, because then he heard the best sound in the world, his brother's call. _Oh thank God!_ Relieved that Dean was up and around, he tried to call back, but all that came out was a garbled mess. _I'm here, Dean! _

"Sam, please answer me!" he heard Dean call with a hint of panic.

Scrounging whatever strength and spit he had left, he forced out his sibling's name.

"Sam?"

"Dean," he moaned, his throat raw from the emotion and pain. _Please help me big brother!_ He waited patiently, momentarily forgetting about the soreness. His brother was coming.

A second later, "Sam. Sam, I'm blocked. Are you okay?"

Sam's heart panged. Dean was blocked. That wasn't good, right? But he had to get to him. There was no way Sam could make it out of here on his own. The ache in his left ankle seared again, forcing him to emit out several more sobs he didn't want to be known.

"Sam. Are you okay?"

No, he wasn't okay. He tried to rein in some more of the involuntary whimpers, but the pain was too immense. He wanted out. "Dean, I-I'm...p-pinned," he cried out frantically.

It wasn't a second later when he heard the movement sounds of side-swiping branches and he knew Dean had climbed into the tree. The trunk jounced heavier rolling a little from the movements, sinking down a great deal and pressing down harder on his injured ankle, angling his bed upwards a few inches. Several loud primitive cries echoed from his throat, hardly able to contain them. A second later, the tree stopped moving, but the agony remained.

"Hang on Sammy, I'm coming."

He heard his brother plain and clear, but he couldn't answer. He wanted to, but his throat felt constricted.

"Sam!"

His fingers clenched and unclenched the soft marshmallow feel of his pillow whilst he screamed some more into it. The floor underneath creaked and groaned more extensively now that Dean had added more weight to the tree. And that was just something else, wasn't it? The floor acted as though it couldn't sustain the weight any more and was going to surrender. _Just his luck! _

"Sammy, please!" Dean called distressed.

Sucking in a huge breath, Sam gasped shakily, "I-I'm h-here."

"Damn it. Answer me when I call you," he heard Dean grouse. "Hang on, I see an opening in the wall. I have to get over this tree first. You hear me?"

"Yeah I hear you," Sam whispered, scanning the room for the opening Dean was referring to. He found it, a long slender hole created when another branch ripped through the wall.

"Sam?"

"I hear you!" he called a little louder, breathless. "Hurry Dean."

He felt the rolling movement once more and he fisted his pillow again, keeping his mind off the jarring spasms. The floor groaned again more loudly this time. Sam closed his eyes, hoping against hope that it didn't give way just yet. More sounds of side-swiping branches echoed through the walls. Then suddenly he heard a loud 'smack' and Dean gasping. _Oh that didn't sound good._ He wasn't wrong when next he heard a long string of curses, meaning that Dean obviously was in pain.

More movement and finally Dean's dirt-infested face appeared through the hole with several pine-needles stuck to his shirt and hair. "Sam?"

"Here," he gasped, still on the bedspread.

A look of horror flourished across Dean's facial features and he immediately tried to charge forward. The hole, however, had other plans as it was too thin for him to squeeze through. Sam watched with hopeful eyes as that didn't stop his brother in trying and he instantly started breaking down some of the drywall, using the branch as an aid in chipping off the bits of wood. Eventually, Dean's will reigned supreme as he made the opening a tad wider, and was starting to squeeze through.

Sam could see the dark stain on his shirt and realized Dean was hurt. "Dean, y-you're h-hurt."

"Doesn't matter," his brother breathed, still angling himself to get through, "Gotta get to you first."

Sam smiled at that. He tried to pull himself upward to help the situation, but again the tree made it difficult.

With a final push, Dean squeezed through, taking a large step forward upon immediately freezing in his tracks. The floorboard under his feet shifted down some, obviously revealing it was the weak link in the chain. Dean rushed back, grabbing a hold of the wall. He looked down at the floor surveying it for any secured spots.

"Hang on Sammy."

"Okay," Sam replied, his voice small and terrified.

But as it was, luck was never really on their side. The wind shot through the hole in the roof swirling around them more fiercely and another strike of lightning crashed down, only this time hitting its mark at the top of the house. Everything, including the walls, the floors, the furniture shook violently as the entire structure quivered from the impact. An everlasting whine emanating from the floorboards echoed throughout the room and Dean looked on in horror as the tree was finally making it's descent through the house.

"Sammy!"

"Dean," Sam cried reaching for him. But it was no use, as the tree broke through the boards and disappeared from sight, taking Sam with it.

**Ooh another cliffhanger. Sorry for that. Hopefully it wasn't too bad to read. Like I said I needed a little backstory. Stay tuned to find out what Dean does now that his little brother's life is once again at stake. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi Guys. Here's chapter three. Beware, it's is a little intense. Hope you enjoy!**

It felt like someone had stood up to Dean, aimed a nine millimeter at his chest, and pulled the trigger when he saw Sam disappear from view. It happened so unexpectantly he was still reeling in shock over it.

"SAMMY!" he shrieked, still clinging onto the broken wall. "SAMMY, PLEASE!"

Still the area down below remained quiet and it had Dean's heart racing faster.

"Sam," he called again, briefly releasing his grip on the wall, edging closer to the end of the now-halved flooring. The platform beneath his feet creaked, sloping downward with this weight. He craned his neck as high as it would allow, attempting to peer over the edge.

"Sam...whoa."

His weight was too much for the platform to handle and it shifted down a great deal forcing Dean to lunge back to the wall. He grabbed the frayed patch in time for the floor to officially loose its support and fall, hinging down to smash loudly into the inferior wall and breaking off, crashing loudly below. Dean hung by the tips of his fingers.

"Oh shit," he cursed, using all his strength to maintain his grip.

More whining echoed from above. He glanced up, and his mouth fell agape in terror as he watched the now two halves of the house sway back and forth. The tops of large wooden structures groaned falling forward, colliding with one another, producing a ear-splitting boom and shaking the rest of the house. Dean closed his eyes and ducked down his head against the shower of dust and debris. He looked up again after a few seconds and smiled feebly, seeing that the two halves produced a stalemate, holding each other up, giving him some more time...but for how long?

Panic at the situation mixed with the fear for his brother wasn't exactly ideal in his current predicament. Rotating to the best of his ability, Dean looked over his shoulder trying to see if he could spot Sam. Unfortunately the rest of the floorboards unhinged were angled down in a way that was obscuring his vision of the ground below. Because of that, he contemplated about letting go and falling to the first floor; the quickest way to get to Sam. But as soon as that tempting plot seemed to be the only way to go, the lovely little voice in the back of his head instantly starting screaming at him, berating him on how suicidally wreckless that plan was; who knew what was at the bottom of the pit? He could easily fall on something, snap his neck, and die. How would he be able to help Sam then?

Deciding to go with the latter, realizing the best way to get to Sam was an alternative route (perhaps the stairs), Dean swung his legs from side to side, using the momentum to get a better grip on the wall. After launching upward and grappling a sturdy side portion of the wall, he hoisted himself up, sliding into the small opening. The muscles in his arms burned with agony, the veins bulging to twice their normal size, and his face turned crimson from the strain. Several loud strained grunts issued from his mouth as he pulled himself through and onto the hallway floor, that seemed to be just as unstable. Dean didn't care as he plopped down onto it as far away from the edge as possible, fatigued. He sat for a bit taking in deep breaths, taking this time to figure out his next move.

_Hang on Sammy. I'm coming._

Guilt festered throughout his conscience remembering the look of fear on his brother's face as he fell through. He could've gotten to him in time. Why couldn't he have moved faster? He didn't understand it. Why did everything for them have to be a trial? What was the purpose? Of all times for his father to be out. Deep down, he really wished his dad was there. Tears welled up in his sockets and he had to bite his lip to force them away; tears weren't going to save Sammy.

The house creaked and shook some more, startling Dean from his resting spot. _Time to move!_

He had just gotten to his feet when a piece of the roof broke off and fell steadfast. Dean had no time, nor anyplace to go to miss the falling object. Instead, he fell onto his side and formed the fetal position just as the mass of plywood and shingles crashed down on top of him. White-hot spikes of pain shot through in various places in his leg and thigh causing him to cry out. Desperate for the fiery pangs to subside, Dean gritted his teeth and pushed upwards, prying the structure off his body revealing long rusty nails sliding out of his skin.

Once the nails were free, he rolled out from under the structure, clamping over the puncture wounds and rocking back and forth. _Damn it, now I gotta get a tetanus shot! I hate shots!_

Standing up on unsteady legs, and keeping his weight off the recently injured one, Dean clung on the nearby wall, overlooking the way. The staircase was on the other side of the broken house. The only safe way to get to the downstairs at this point was the stairs. So far to his knowledge, it was the sturdiest and hadn't been dismantled...yet.

Taking every forward step with trepidation, Dean focused on the flooring. The portion he was on now sloped more with his weight. Concentrating, he focused on one spot across the way. He closed his eyes praying for a landing. And if he had landed, he prayed he didn't fall through. Then without anymore hesitation that could cost him a lot, he leapt.

His body made contact with the other side. He lied momentarily still in case the thing did decide to give way. After a long second, he slowly peeked open his eyes, slightly relieved at the turnout.

"I hate this," Dean mumbled to himself, the stress and suspense making this one very trying night.

Deciding not to take his chances, he began to army crawl towards the staircase, hissing every few seconds at the throbs that coursed throughout his frame. It didn't take him long to arrive at the edge of the staircase. Hopping up immediately, he began to run down.

Another beam of lightning struck the ground nearby creating another ear-shattering boom, which scared the shit out of him causing him to accidentally lose his footing and he tripped forward. His body curled into a ball and tumbled all the way down the hardened steps. His journey down the steps only ended with him crashing through the side banister railing and landing in a crumpled heap a few feet below.

"Sonuvabitch," he scowled angrily when he heard a loud crack and a radiating pain erupted in his side. He cursed again. _Yeah, definitely a broken rib!_ His body stiffened from the impact, momentarily paralyzed. His shoulder throbbed and the wounds in his leg panged further, not to mention the twin golf-ball sized bump forming on the other side of his head now.

This certainly was not his night!

Carefully pulling himself to his feet, his jawbone clenched tight, he limped forward, heading in the direction to the middle of the house, where the tree supposedly was and possibly Sammy. A deep unsettling fear sprouted, apart from the one he was already feeling; a sense of trepidation overpowered him, and he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to see his brother. He didn't know what he might see and feared it.

"Sammy," he called, scanning the area ahead of him and seeing nothing but a wall of rainwater and dim light. Again, there was no answer. The hand holding onto his split side trembled, as did the rest of his body a second later. He wasn't quite sure if it was from shock or from fear for his brother. Both feelings seemed to be mutual at this point.

He trudged onward and saw the tree. Picking up his pace, he hopped over many of the broken furniture pieces including the TV set, and the living room table. Once he managed to get to one side of the tree, he peered over it.

The unconscious crumpled heap of his brother was on the other side of the tree's truck. Half alarmed and relieved, Dean scrambled over to him as fast as he could hobble. Sam was lying on his back, his left arm splayed out and his legs partly on the tree's trunk. The bedframe laid in shambles not too far from his head and the mattress partly held his head up. What scared Dean the most was not only his brother's pale pallor and still body, but the two metal rods protruding about a foot out of Sam's shoulder and side with blood steadily spreading around the puncture sites.

"Oh God Sam," Dean gasped, bending down to see where the rods came from. His answer came to him when he saw a piece of drywall underneath his brother's frame. That must've been part of the house's structure. He had to have fallen on it when the wall's caved in as the tree fell. He hissed at how painful it must've been. Fresh tears built up behind his clogged eyes, and he fought hard against them, willing them to stay away. He had to stay strong, even if he didn't like the outcome.

"Sammy. Sammy," Dean called out fearfully, prodding Sam's face. "Come on Sammy, please!"

He patted the teenagers face a few more times forcefully trying to produce a response. Finally, the kid grimaced and he awoke with a start, eying Dean fearfully. What happened next had Dean berating himself for waking him up. Sam started screaming in pain, his arms beginning to quiver madly due to shock.

Terrified, Dean latched onto Sam's face and said frantically, "Sammy. It's okay. Calm down. Calm down."

Sam's whole body began to shake as he scrunched his eyes shut, throwing his head back and gasping out, "Dean."

"It's okay. I'm here," Dean reassured him.

Sam clasped his right hand over Dean's wrist, squeezing it tightly as the pain emanating from his shoulder and side seared torturously. He couldn't control the whimpers that escaped from his throat. "D-d-de-dean, i-it...hu...oh g-god."

"I know. I know it does. But we need to get out of here."

He couldn't have said that any sooner when the walls creaked more and the top of the house shifted down some. The ever steady pounding of dread increased in waves when more pieces of the ceiling broke off and landed in loud dusty piles around them. Dean knew the walls weren't going to hold up for much more longer and it was a matter of time before the entire house collapsed on top of them.

Not really ready to die just yet, Dean came to a quick decision. One that he truly didn't want to make, but it had to be done. "Sam, I have to lift you up off these spikes, okay."

"No. No Dean," Sam's voice came out in a wheeze.

Dean saw the look of trepidation in Sam's face, but he had to push past that. "We have to try," he forced.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut again, tightening his hold on Dean's wrist.

"Look at me Sam!"

The fierceness of Dean's tone forced Sam to open his eyes again and gaze fearfully at him.

Dean looked intensely into Sam's eyes once again, "We have to try. No one's dieing tonight, you hear me Sammy? We have to try."

Sam fought hard against the throbbing pain. His body still shaking uncontrollably, Sam bit down hard on his tongue to keep the whimpers and moans astray, his gaze stiffening as he wanted to stay strong in his brother's eyes. He understood what Dean was saying and he truly didn't want to, but then he didn't want to die either. Gasping, Sam nodded squeezing his eyes shut once more.

Dean took that as his cue. "Alright, real quick now," he said placing his hands underneath a part of Sam's shoulder and back. Pushing back against his own aches and pains, Dean pulled upward lifting the boy up a few inches, grimacing at the flare the broken rib pulsated. The primitive anguished cry his brother made terrified him all the more, causing him to lose focus and accidentally drop him back down. He instantly became nauseated at the sickening sound of the rods sliding along torn flesh.

"Sorry. Sorry Sammy," Dean apologized, his worry increasing when Sam's body shook more violently and his screams turned into painful gasps.

"Oh my God," Dean breathed, wiping the pooling sweat off his brow. He looked at his brother again, "Let's do it again, and I won't let go, I promise."

"NO!" Sam screeched painfully, "No, no, no, no, no, please."

"Sam..."

"No Dean please. I c-can't d-do it. Please! It's too p-painful!"

A heartbreaking sob escaped past Dean's demeanor and he backed up breaking his contact with Sam's hand, covering his mouth with both hands. Another patch of the ceiling fell next to them, and the top of the house shifted some more. Any minute now it was about to fall.

Panicked, Dean ran his bloody hands through his hair, coming back to his brother's side. "Sam, just try to get through this."

"It hurts, Dean," Sam cried.

"I know it hurts. I know it hurts, but only for a few minutes, then we can get out of here. We can get some help," Dean encouraged, praying his brother will agree.

But Sam just shook his head. "No, no, no. I can't."

The batch of tears Dean was holding at bay now fell, and he looked away.

"You go Dean," Sam squeaked, his breathing becoming more shallow.

"What?"

Sam coughed. "Go."

"What're you saying?"

"The house is about to fall. I-I d-don't want y-you t-to d-dieee too. Please...just...just leave me."

"No way!" Dean exclaimed taking Sam's hand.

Sam moaned from another bout of pain, using all his remaining strength to squeeze Dean's hand. "Yes...y-you have to. I c-c-can't move," he wheezed, coughing some more.

Dean's fear increased when the treacherous coughs Sam made shook his entire body, a thin trail of blood flowed out the corner of his mouth. "Sammy, no!"

"Do it, Dean. Leave me. Save yourself," his baby brother pleaded.

Dean was at a loss of what to do. His instinctual desire wanted nothing more than to give into his brother's wish and save himself. But the loving brotherly side felt he had to do everything in his power to save his baby brother, his one and only responsibility that had been instilled into his subconscious since he first laid eyes on the boy.

The long cut in his side flared horribly and he backed up again, gritting his teeth trying to figure out what to do. He was out of time. The top part of the house's two halves were creepily inching downward and it could be within seconds that they were both pancakes. He didn't want to die. But he didn't want his brother to die either. Sam was what made his life whole. Dean had no clue what to do.

"Go Dean. I promise I won't be mad," Sam whispered, the shakes in his body slowing down, his pallor now whiter than it was a minute ago.

A loud crash sounded in the back of the house where the kitchen resided causing Dean to jump.

Coming back to his senses, he made up his mind. No Winchester was going to die today. He stalked back over to Sam.

"Sorry Sammy," he gasped pulling back a fist and swinging it down hard over the kid's temple, knocking his brother out cold. Swallowing whatever spit he had left, he placed both hands far under the kid's back and heaved with all his strength. Dean never had realized how heavy his brother was, and now since the kid was a dead weight, it practically felt like he was lifting a baby whale. No offense to Sam!

Securing his hold, not daring to drop him and causing more damage, Dean steadily raised him, the spikes slowly receding out of his sight. Taking one last deep breath, Dean used all his remaining strength to push Sam's body off the spikes...and finally it lifted free off them. Once free, the kid's weight forced him to sway and he stumbled back cradling his baby brother's limp body more tightly to his chest.

Another crack sounded forcing Dean to look up. His heart plummeted. The house was beginning to fall.

All Dean can say is, his father trained him well. Plucking up the courage, not for himself, but for the precious bundle he held in his arms, Dean ran. He ran as fast and as hard as never before.

Pieces of the ceiling, the drywall, even the plywood boards that held up the structure of the house fell all around him, some clucking him in the back of the head, some blanketing Sam with dust and bits of insulation. He hopped onto one of the tree's large branches and followed it to the tree's long trunk, and ran along it, dodging most of the falling debris. With the weight and his own injuries, Dean was much slower than he normally was.

Large chunks of the walls fell in front of him, obscuring his view of the outside. He was almost there. Another large chunk of the house's infrastructure crashed in front of him and he leapt up over the boards with all his might. Seeing the outside, he yelled out in frustration, diving forward just as the walls officially collapsed and fell to the ground with a loud 'boom', stifled by the falling rain.

Dean landed with a loud 'thud' onto the wet sodden grass, Sam forcefully rolling out of his grasp. A dustbowl cloud of drywall dust and debris billowed all around them causing him to choke. Once the dust settled, Dean rolled over panting heavily, allowing for the fresh rainy air to rush into his lungs. Most days he wouldn't have admitted it, but he rather enjoyed the harsh sting of the rainwater hitting his face. It was a sign he was alive. Gradually lifting himself up on his elbows, he admired the damage. The small farm house that he officially declared to himself that he hated was now destroyed beyond repair. It was completely leveled to the ground.

Dean gulped in a large greedy breath, "I hate the countryside."

**And that's it for this chapter folks. Poor Sammy! At least Dean was able to get him out of the house. And now they need to get out of there before Sammy bleeds to death. I was not so certain about this chapter, nervous about your reactions. So I am dying to know what you think. I'll try and get the next chapter up soon, I promise.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**  
I must've lost my mind when this chapter came up. Probably desperate for some hard core tragic drama, anyway I am such a horrible, horrible person. You'll see coming up that I put the boys through yet another trial and you may think I'm slightly deranged after this (which I sort of am!) Read on and hopefully you won't get the pitchforks out... or the tar!**

"Suspect traveling down on 85, heading East. Dispatch. Calling in Dispatch. Backup. I repeat requested backup," a middle-aged officer spoke harshly into the CB radio head.

"Ten-four Rich. Describe the situation," a technical voice announced through the transmitter.

"Ten-zero in progress. I'm in hot pursuit of a black Chevrolet. I can't make out the model and year. Possibly a ten-twenty-nine."

"Ten-four. What's the plate number?"

"Negative on plate number. That's a negative. Suspect traveling fast. I've been tailing him for the last five minutes."

"Ten-four Rich. We've located your position. Five other units are on the way heading West in your direction. Two other units are at the base of town."

"Ten-four. Request a ten-thirty-eight at approximately two miles outside town border."

"Repeat."

"Request a ten-thirty-eight."

"Are you crazy? We don't have time to make that!"

"Then make time. Suspect could be armed and possibly dangerous. We need to bring him down before he gets to town, copy."

"Ten-four, over and out."  


* * *

  
Dean couldn't believe it. He hadn't been on the road for more than fifteen minutes when suddenly the red and blue flashes lit up in the rear-view mirror. _This is just great! Of all times for the po-po's to be on my kiester! _

Dean growled. He didn't have time to play this cat and mouse game. Rolling his eyes, he rammed his foot down so hard on the gas pedal, it was a wonder his foot hadn't broke through the floorboard. Long torrents of steam billowed from the tires along with a chilling squeal and the black Chevy barreled down the highway propelling well over fear-inducing speeds, gaining a bit of distance from the pursuer.

Dean's initial plan was to head towards town, since he had no unearthly idea of where the nearest hospital was located. So town seemed like the most logical place to start searching. He was still wet and bloody from the task of escaping death's gangly clutches. His body ached tremendously, obvious by the way his left hand shook on the wheel. But his stubborn subconscious brushed past that, solely concentrating on the darkened wet road before him.

Sam's head laid in his lap; the kid's body outstretched along the seat-bench with his injured legs elevated and resting against the base of the door. Several terry cloths Dean found in the back of the trunk were planted on top of the wounds in his side and shoulder. There were a few grease stains on some, but Dean needed to use something to staunch the blood flow. The over-the-top fear that never seemed to abate rippled incessantly when Dean saw the cloths were hardly doing their intended purpose. Even the added pressure of Dean's palm was hardly doing the trick as Sam's blood oozed steadily over his fingers.

He hated the decision that was made in raising Sam off of the metal rods. Rule number one with impalement was to not remove the object, since the object in question normally acted as a tamponade and clotted the blood flow. Dean knew that since the first grade, but he felt within his heart there wasn't any other choice. Either the boy was going to kick the bucket due to bloodloss, or with the house falling down and making him into a pancake. Logically, in Dean's mind, he took his chance with the bloodloss. He only prayed his choice wasn't going to cost Sam his life.

And now of all things, a cop was on his six. _Luckily there's only one! _

The Impala zoomed past the many cow pastures and corn fields, speeding like a dart on the black road. Seconds later, more annoying sirens and flashing lights reverberated in the car's interior, the cop cars coming from intercepting side roads. _Okay, not anymore._

"Damn it," Dean cursed angrily, slapping his hand against the wheel. He glanced down at his brother. "Oh hell no, little brother. We ain't stopping!"

With the speed he was pushing on the V8, he was certainly impressed on how the authorities seemed to have kept up, tagging not too far behind. And with the fact there was only the main road heading into town, there was no way he could lose them. So the only other option was to keep going, stopping only at the hospital (if only he knew where it was).

And so he stuck with the plan: driving at dangerous speeds with the cops riding his tail. He just had a feeling he was going to be on Cops! _Cool! _

As with any typical plan, it goes awry! The town's sign came into view indicating he was a couple miles outside it's border. Not far after that, Dean's heart sank and his eyes grew wide as the authorities had a few cars blocking the road, the officers out and pointing their pathetic-looking shotguns. They seemed willing to do just about anything within their power to stop him.

Dean gulped. He was coming up on them fast, and he knew if he didn't slow down, more than likely they would open fire. _Wouldn't that be lovely!_

He peered down at his brother's pale face again. Sammy was going to die if he heeded to the law. No way would he allow that to happen. Glancing out the side window, he saw the moldy posts and barbed wire fenced around another gross cow pasture. Glancing back at the roadblock now only hundreds of feet away, he came up with a decision.

"Hang on tight Sammy," he gritted out. His face twisted into a grimace as he yanked the Impala's wheel with both hands to the right. The tires squealed some more before going quiet as they all went airborne over the ditch, crashing through the barbed fence, and sliding sideways along the sodden manure-filled grass. The car's interior jerked and jostled brutally, it's occupants bouncing off it's leather seats. Dean's head hit the ceiling and the side of the window, a nasty pain echoing throughout his cranial cavity. O_h just perfect, another fricken bump! _

While concentrating on driving through the muddy field, he looked behind him and jerked in surprise that the cops actually followed him into the pasture. "Ha ha, they must think I stole the car or something. Suckers!" he mumbled laughingly to himself.

Pained whimpers struck a chord in his ear and he peered down once more at his brother. Pain lines were etched over his brother's face. The car jostled some more from the bumps and ruts scattered amongst the ground causing Sam to emit out more miserable moans. His brother was waking up!

"Sam!" Dean called.

Sam turned his head in his lap.

"Sammy, can you hear me?"

A short mumbled response was all he got. But he did see Sam's fists clench up again.

"Hang on Sammy, we're almost out of this mess," Dean cajoled pressing firmly down on Sam's side again, receiving a harsh gasp.

The cops were still behind gaining speed. Wanting desperately to get out of the field so not to jar Sam's injuries any further, he yanked the wheel harshly to the left, cringing as they crashed through the barbed fence once again, and fish-tailed on the road. Once stabilizing the car, he stomped on the gas passing the border into town. He searched frantically from side to side for the blue 'H' sign, indicating the hospital.

The little hordes of people out late after work or leaving the town's main nightclub screamed and moved closer towards the buildings walls as he raced past. He continued on through the town's main road, running through the many stoplights, and ignoring the various 'stop signs'. _That would have been pointless to his cause! _Several more units now have joined in on the chase.

One pulled up ahead, obviously trying to pull the surprise on him and force him to either stop or crash. Due to his quick reflexes and skilled driving, he dodged the vehicle, skimming past it's bumper, and continuing on.

Sam whimpered some more. "D-dean, p-p-please s-ssstop it," he whispered.

"Not until we get to the damn hospital Sammy. Just hang on," Dean forced out taking a corner and swerving onto another street, barely avoiding one person on the sidewalk. He looked down patting Sam's cheek, "You hear me? Hang in there. We're almost there. Stay awake."

Sam eyes were at half-mast, the irises dull and slightly glazed over. His lips were a pale white, a tinge of blue slowly lining the rims.

"You hear me?"

"'Kay."

His mewl was small and barely a squeak, but it still brought Dean hope that his brother was still fighting. He looked up and beamed. Finally a sign loomed into view. "About damn time!"

It took several more signs to follow, but soon he could see the grand place of medical heaven. Still with the police streaming after him, he turned sharply into the entrance, not bothering to slow down until he practically skidded to a halt in front of the ER doors.

The rest of the cops behind him all fanned out with their vehicles coming to a halt several feet behind the entrance. Each officer jumping out, barricading themselves behind the doors poising their handguns at the Impala.

Dean didn't have time to meddle with these guys. He had more important priorities and if he went to jail because of his actions, then so be it. He opened the door and stepped out.

"Don't move," one of the officers bellowed.

"I need help," Dean called out, placing most of his weight on his uninjured leg.

One of the passenger officers faced the driver. "It could be a ploy, sir."

"I know that," the man scowled, facing the supposed suspect. "Put your hands up and get down on your knees."

Dean growled. "Screw you guys, my brother needs help," he reached in, lifting the youngest Winchester up by his shoulders and tugging him towards the door. "Hang on. Nice and easy Sammy."

The main officer stiffened. "Stop. Don't move," he ordered.

Dean let go of Sam, as he found pulling him out was going to have to be a two-man job. He was just too weak. He turned to the cops, angry. "I need help!"

"I won't say it again. Get down on your knees."

"NO!" he winced after he shouted, the broken rib making itself noticed again. "Are you guys going to stand there or-," he clutched at his side.

Bang!

The voice of two shots sliced through the air.

Dean felt a bullet pierce into his right shoulder just underneath his collar bone; another skimming the side of his head producing a God-awful sting. The force knocked him back into the driver's door, the back of his head shattering the window, and he fell down in a heap unconscious.

The gunshots pounded through Sam's eardrums and he jerked fully awake. He heard the sound of the window shattering and the fall of something heavy. His eyes swiveled anxiously in their sockets, desperately looking for his brother. "Dean," he mumbled, his voice barely over a whisper. He wheezed, trying to pull in some much needed oxygen; but it was incredibly hard. "Dean," he whimpered. Fear began to rage through him as his brother did not answer.  


* * *

  
The lead officer watched the suspect go down and immediately he barked, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

All the officers simultaneously clicked on the safety mechanism on their weapons. The main officer turned towards his rookie partner, "Jenkins! What the hell?"

"I'm sorry sir. But I thought he was going for a weapon," the guy said shakily.

"Jesus! That's not how we do things kid," he snarled before turning to the blonde officer in the convoy next to him, "Page, go check it out."

The man nodded before sliding out from behind his door and jogging over with his gun held up high. He approached the scene cautiously, as trained, observing the now unconscious suspect with blood pooling around his head and shirt. He sighed seeing there was no weapon and he appeared to be injured, "Jesus, he's just a kid."

He heard struggled gasps and forced moans coming within the car. He peered inside and saw the bloody body of a younger boy squirming on the seat, weakly calling the name 'Dean'.

"Uh Rich, we got a problem," he called out. He turned to the rest of the men, "There's a kid in here, and he looks pretty bad."

He stepped out from the car and shouted out to the many medical personnel overlooking the scene at the building's doors. "We need some help over here. Two people down," he yelled to the staff, who instantly went into action.

Page climbed into the car and saw the rest of the damage to the kid, noticing the spillage of blood dripping into the floorboard. "Shit, he's loosing a lot of blood," he said to no one in particular. Immediately, he pressed down on the boy's wound, feeling at a complete loss when the kid kept whimpering out, what he believed to be the other boy's name. "Hang on, son. We're gonna get you some help."

"Br...brot..." Sam struggled to say.

Page caught on. "Your brother?"

Sam nodded stiffly.

The officer cringed and offered, "He's going to be okay too. We're gonna get you both some help. It's going to be okay."

He looked out and saw the many staff members pulling the other boy into the recovery position before stabilizing him on a gurney. He watched the staff rolled him off, running and barking out medical directions like mad. He turned back to the kid under his palms, hoping to keep him talking, to keep him awake. "Son, can you tell me your name?"

Sam moaned, gasping. "Ssssaam," he slurred.

Page smiled. "That's good. Sam, is it? Your going to be fine-"

He was interrupted when a couple of EMTs came into the passenger side of the Impala, forcing him to back up. They attached an oxygen mask to Sam's face, plugging in an ambu bag. One of the EMT's rushed to the other side, ejecting the officer out and hopping back in, rapidly pumping the bag. The others worked in prepping him for the gurney they rolled by the door.

Sam's eyes drooped, his body succumbing to the familiar tremors. The main EMT shouted, "We gotta move. He's gone into complete shock!"

Instantly, the boy was dragged out of the seat, and placed firmly on the awaiting gurney. And within a matter of seconds, he disappeared through the ER's main doors.

Page ambled shakily back over to Rich, wiping the blood off his hands on his uniform. He looked the man straight in the eye. "What do we do now, sir?"

The officer looked troubled, looking away as if trying to come up with a good directive. After a long second, he turned back to his second-in-command, "You stay here and find Allie. Also find out what happened to these boys. The rest of the men and I will clean up this mess."

Page nodded in affirmation before strolling towards the ER.  
**  
I told ya I was horrible! I know it might not seem plausible, but I have read case reports where cops accidentally shoot (or tazer) potential suspects. In this case, it was an accident. But like I said, this is a survival fic and also I wanted to explore that boundary a little more about why Dean hates the authority figures so much. This is a little taste of that. Stay tuned, as the suspense doesn't quite end for both the boys.**

Just FYI, cop lingo: 10-4: okay; 10-0: in pursuit; 10-29: stolen vehicle; 10-38: roadblock

And on another note, school is quite the harridan this week as all my deadlines were pushed up a week. So with that being said, I'm afraid there won't be an update until after Thursday (at least!) So again sorry, I'm trying! I swear juggling school and fan fiction should be an art!


	5. Chapter 5

**  
Sorry for the wait, but my bioethics and forensic papers kicked my arse the last week, and now it's time for their presentations this week...I'm know there's a hint of excitement in there somewhere...Anyway, here's the next chapter. And so since you had to wait, I decided to make it a bit lengthy. Hope it's to your satisfaction. **

Something didn't feel right. Heck, for that matter nothing felt right. His head felt oddly like an over-blown up balloon bopping towards the sky with nothing but a flimsy string holding him back. It was filled with an incessant beeping sound that was so annoying, it could've competed against the Chinese Water Torture and won. The rest of him felt stiff and achy like his arms and legs were filled with sand and watered-down mortar. His surroundings felt hot and heavy and it had him wondering if he had gone off on some clichéd expedition and was trapped somewhere in the tropical Amazon, his body practically suffocating.

Air brushed lightly through the confines of his nose relieving a bit of the Amazonian atmosphere--and that too felt weird. It smelt artificial, clean--too clean in fact with an odd hint of disinfectant. _Sammy must've used too much bleach when cleaning the bathroom._ But that didn't exactly explain the what the heck was in his nose. It felt like two friggin logs were shoved up into the two holes. Did he get abducted and some 'Weird Science' wannabe aliens were messing with him? What the hell was going on?

As time progressed and his mind fought more out of the viscous molasses it felt stuck in, that's when he became more aware of the throbbing pains in his head, shoulder, and leg. _Okay, I want to go back!_ His mind refused to give into his plea as it slowly treaded the fringe of consciousness. All he could see was darkness. _Are my eyes open, I can't tell. Where am I?_

He couldn't have wondered that any sooner when the flashes of the large pine tree demolishing their house, the car chase, and the friggin cop shooting him down came crashing down on top of him. That's when it occurred to him. Annoying noises! Hot and stifling atmosphere. Darkness. Body hurts like it got ran over by a steamroller. There was only one explanation!

_This is Hell! Holy shit! I went to Hell. What the fuck? How did that happen? I couldn't have been all that bad. Okay, okay, I know I slept around quite a lot and done a few other things that I'll take to my grave, but not enough for a one-way ticket down south. That is ridiculous. Wait a minute, I can't go to Hell yet! I haven't banged Jennifer Love Hewitt!_

"You coming around?" a sweet voice said.

_Huh? What was that?_

"Come on Mr. Winchester, you can do it. Time to wake up," the voice said again.

Hmmm, he didn't think kind comforting voices could be in Hell, that would be besides the point. Unless its a sadistic way to lure him in!

"No you're not in Hell. Purgatory maybe..."

"What?" he finally heard his voice croak. Immediately his mind stepped over the boundary of consciousness and he felt his eyes finally able to lift themselves despite how heavy they felt. The first thing he took in was the extremely bland walls and the annoying sound of a heart monitor close by. _Oh, I'm in the hospital. Crap, that's even worse than Hell._

"You still there?" the voice, now sounding more feminine pronounced.

Dean opened his eyes fully, the blurry edges of his vision fading out where he could see someone sitting on his bed. The person's face loomed into view and he learned it was a woman. She had a kind face with a pointy chin. She had long dark hair pulled half-back, most of it resting over her shoulder and had a rosy complexion. Her dark chocolate eyes shone with such a deep intensity that Dean found himself backing further into the pillow behind his head.

"Welcome back," she announced in a soft motherly voice, the curve of her lips forming a deep smile revealing unabashed dimples, "You were mumbling in your sleep."

Dean grinned nervously to the best of his ability, looking down and noticing her doctor apparel.

"That's a scary thought," he managed to say, his voice barely higher than a coarse whisper.

The female doctor chuckled, "Don't worry, it was nothing else I haven't heard before. How do you feel?"

Dean coughed, wondering if the woman was blind. He felt like crap. Didn't he look it? He mumbled, "Like I've been shot."

"Fair enough. What's your name?"

Tired, Dean took a deep breath. "Dean."

"Hi there Dean. I'm Doctor Allison Page. But I preferred to be called Allie. I'll be attending to you and your brother's recoveries."

That was a lot to register. Dean felt like he understood most of what she said. His comprehension was a tad slow, probably due to the drugs that were no doubt in his system and taking off the edge of the pain. But then one thing did cross his mind that sent him into over-pent up panic.

"Whoa. Sammy!" He squirmed, trying to bolt up in bed. But the doctor placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back down with strength he wasn't expecting.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Calm down. Your brother's fine."

"Sam?" Dean called out, desperation setting into his over-taxed heart. He didn't mean to let him go.

Allie picked up on the panic. "Dean! Listen to me. He's okay for now. He's right here beside you," she pointed to the adjacent bed next to them.

Holding his breath, Dean sat up to the best of his ability, helped by Allie, and looked over on his right at the other bed. He let out the held breath once he saw the still sleeping form. Sam was pale, but not so much as from the last time he saw him. The outlines of his golden hue was slowly flushing back into his face. Several tiny butterfly bandaids were set on the cuts of his face and the scratches of his arms. His lip was still swollen where he had bit down on it. He had a couple IV wires hooked into his hand, and an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Dean felt he could relax when he saw the steady plumes of air moisture filling the mask. Allie helped lay him gently down on the mattress.

"You feel better now?"

He nodded.

"You need to take it easy Dean. You have some pretty nasty injuries yourself too."

"How is he?" he asked with a hint of sadness.

The doctor stared at him. That was the first time in her career she saw a terribly injured patient ask about someone else's well-being instead of their own. It took her by surprise.

"I won't lie to you, as I can tell it won't get me anywhere. It was a close call. But he was a trooper. He lost an enormous amount of blood, and quite frankly I'm surprised he stayed awake for so long."

Allie caught the confused look in Dean's eyes and continued. "He woke up while on the table as we were patching the hole in his side. He was relentless. He wouldn't fall under, even with the sedatives, not until he knew about you."

Dean scrunched his eyes. A sense of annoyance swelled within him directed mostly at his brother. Sammy shouldn't have had to worry about him. That's not how it was supposed to be. But then he looked over at his brother, and that annoyance unexpectedly morphed into pride. He was proud at the boy's stubbornness; that meant he was still fighting. And in a way, it made Dean's heart soar that Sam used him as his anchor to hold onto in this time of crisis. He couldn't help but grin pathetically.

"We stitched the damage to the layers of tissue in his side and shoulder to the best of our ability. We're monitoring him, because there was a nick in the side of his stomach and a portion of his intestine. We drained out most of the toxic fluid that seeped into his system and we gave him at least three units of blood. So as long as he doesn't break open any stitches, he should be just fine within a week or so. For now, he's on a sedative and should be asleep for awhile."

Dean sighed, somewhat at ease at the doc's prognosis.

"Now for you," she spoke more eagerly, "We dressed the puncture wounds in your leg with antibiotic ointment and gave you a tetanus shot. If you feel a little hot, it's probably because you have a small fever. It should go away soon. You did manage to crack a couple ribs and they should be fine within a few weeks. But the most serious were the bullet wounds. The bullet below your collarbone has been extracted and there should be no permanent damage there. Just keep that sling on and it'll remain that way. And by the way, you should feel lucky, that other one barely skimmed the side of your head"--she softly prodded the bloody spot on the bandage wrapped around his head causing him to jerk away-- "Sorry. All it took was a few stitches. There might be a scar there, but hey look at it this way, it'll be a great story to tell the chicks. You got shot in the head and survived it. They'll never stop lining up!"

That last part made Dean snort.

"But I do have to ask Dean, what happened to you?"

Dean suddenly found his gaze traveling over and lingering on the still form of his brother once again. He couldn't understand why, but he found it easier. "A stupid tree fell on our house. Sammy f-fell with it and he...he fell on these rods. I guess they were from the floor board," he found it increasingly hard to explain without his voice breaking. "I had to get him off of them. The house was falling apart and it did."

"Where's your house?"

"Monroe street, on the outskirts of town."

Allie's eyebrows shot up, clearly shocked. "Wow, that's quite a distance. No wonder you were flying."

"I-I couldn't stop for the cops. Sammy was bleeding too much. I couldn't take the risk..."

"Hey," Allie interrupted softly peering calmly into his eyes pressing down gently on his chest, "It's okay. You did what you had to do. Anyone else would've done the same thing."

"I knew I was gonna get in trouble, but I didn't expect to get shot over it. What the hell?" he grumbled.

"Yeah," Allie answered tentatively, "that was unfortunate, and the police force sends their deepest condolences. In fact, they are willing to pay for all your medical expenses."

"Oh good, but that still don't mean my dad won't kick their ass."

"Hmmm hymph," the doctor pursed her lips, "Speaking of which, we still need to get a hold of your parents. We tried looking through your car registry for a number, but we couldn't find one."

"My dad's out on business."

"Do you have a number for him? We can call him right now," she picked up a phone handset that Dean noticed was hooked to a landline centered on a small mahogany table in between the two beds. Dean gave her the number and he watched her punch in the numbers at ludicrous speed. It only was a split second before she began speaking and Dean instantly knew it was his dad's voicemail. What else did he expect?

"Hi this is Doctor Allison Page at Riverview Medical Sinai and we have your sons Dean and Sam admitted here as patients. Though they are not in any immediate danger, it would be appreciative if you can come here as soon as you can. I will go over the details with you once you arrive. Thank you."

Dean scoffed once she replaced the receiver, "He's gonna be pissed you didn't say how we are."

"Really, I would think he would be even more pissed off if we hadn't called him at all," she smiled at the look of surprise on Dean's face.

"Doctors can speak like that? What about your boss?"

"Oh don't worry, she doesn't mind. Besides it's not exactly permitted to explain the details of a patient over the phone. I'm not sure if it's an ethical thing or not."

Dean nodded in understanding.

"Okay. I have to get going. I have to go make my rounds. I just wanted to see how you boys were doing and I'll come back in a few hours just to check on you and change your brother's bandages. Alright?"

"Thanks doc."

Once the doctor left, Dean watched the door for a few minutes cautious of others walking in the room before he picked up the phone and rapidly dialed his father's number again. And as usual he went straight to voicemail.

He sighed in disappointment. "Dad, its me. You probably got the doc's message and are probably freaking out right now. But before you burn up the road, I had to call and say we're sort of okay. Stupid tree came down on the house dad, and Sammy...Sammy's hurt real bad. So please get here soon."

He hung up.

Looking over to his brother once again, he called out, "Sammy."

His brother remained quiet and asleep.

"Sammy," he called a little louder.

Still the youngest slept on. Dean sighed again before falling back on the bedspread, ready to endure the anticipated boring wait for his father.

* * *

Allie left the room and quickly strolled up to the blonde officer Page waiting patiently on the corner of the hallway. The officer's expressive green eyes bore into those of his wife's eagerly anticipating information. "Hey honey. Did you find out what happened?"

"Yeah. The older one woke up just a few minutes ago and he said a tree fell down on top of their house. I knew this was one bad mother of a storm, but I didn't expect something like this to happen. And he also told me they live on the outskirts of town, you know that lone farm house on Monroe?"

"That far, really? And in that rickety old thing? Damn, I can't imagine what it was like. Good thing the kid hauled ass. The little one was in real bad shape when I found him in the car."

"Yeah I know. How are things at the station?"

"Usual," he groused. "Everyone's running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to figure out what to do. They finally made an ID on the plates of the car and registration and there's no criminal record, so we're all good there. Hopefully the boss is cracking down hard on Jenkins, but you know how that kid is. He may act innocent, but stuff goes in one ear and out the other."

Allie clenched her jaw. "Well Rich needs to do something to make sure that kid learns. This shouldn't have happened."

"What do you suggest we do about it? There's only so much extra training can do and we can't get rid of him because his dad used to be the chief of police."

"Travis, if that bullet was just a centimeter more to the left, he would've blown that's kids brains out and you all would be in more crap than you are in now," she enforced.

"I know. Trust me I know. Me and some of the other guys already went to Rich about it, and he says he's definitely gonna crack down harder on him."

Allie huffed, "He better."

"We just need to get a hold of the parents."

"I've already tried. It's just the father. He's away on business. Hopefully he'll get here after my message," she looked up appearing a little upset. "I hope because it was close on his youngest."

"Hey you did good," her husband whispered reassuringly, embracing her. "And they're on the mend now and that's all that matters."

"Thanks honey. Okay, I gotta get back to work and figure out what else we can do for these boys. You going back to the station?"

"Yeah, I gotta make my report."

"Okey dokey," she kissed his cheek, "I'll see ya at home later tonight. And honey don't forget to take the roast out and let it thaw first before putting it in the oven. Okay?"

"Righty-oh!"

* * *

Whoever the bastard is that sets the time scales should be shot! Apparently he makes it his sole priority to bend time to his will and scorn any and everybody else he can. Either time flew by like a sparrow on crack when someone dreads a certain task, or time took all eternity when someone was incredibly impatient for something. At this point, Dean was so impatient, he was already planning the dude's murder and cover up.

The night flew by fast, but the morning dragged on like he couldn't believe. Soon the afternoon sun was shining brightly through their room and still no John. Dean sat up in his bed, pondering, biting the fingernails off his freehand while occasionally scratching absent-mindedly at the itchy bandage around his head. The sling was draped over the bedrail, gone the minute the night nurse had left. He had probably called his father a million times, and still he was kept waiting. Sam had yet to wake up and Dean's patience was wearing thin.

And worry over his brother didn't help in the slightest. Sam struck up a fever some time during the night noted by the sheen of perspiration coating his face and neck. The on-duty nurse gave him some fever-reliever, but the fever never broke. Dean tried calling out to him several times attempting to wake him, hoping to have some form of company. But it was no use, the kid was out like a light.

Soon the choking effects of boredom pressed at the edges of his mind and he couldn't stand it anymore. He laid back down and closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the slow process of sleep to overcome him.

It never did!

The sounds of moaning caught his attention and he snapped his neck to the side. Sam was squirming on the bed, twisting and turning, fidgeting wildly, apparently in the woes of a nightmares.

"Sam," Dean called. "Sam wake up."

The teenager kept twisting.

"Sam," Dean half-shouted.

Sam suddenly gasped and immediately shuddered as he clutched his side. The weird niggling feeling in Dean's gut felt like a fish flopping out of water sending a prickling feeling up his spine. He needed to wake his little brother up. Instantly, he yanked out his IV, unhooked his nasal cannula and stood up. His leg proved difficult as it was still sore. He worked through the stiffness and the atrophy and limped over to the bed. He quickly sat on it before his leg gave out and gently shook his brother. "Sam."

Sam continued to squirm.

Dean shook harder "Sammy!"

The teenager's bloodshot eyes finally shot open. A maelstrom of fear, confusion, and pain shone through as his eyes swiveled around frantically. Several strained whimpers emitted from his lips. "Dean?"

"Sammy, it's okay, I'm right here."

Upon seeing Dean sitting on his bed, Sam launched upward, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Dean sat there stunned and amazed at his brother's sudden embrace. The kid hugged him harder, his body trembling in Dean's arms. This was so not like his fifteen-year old brother to be clingy after a nightmare, but it did bring back memories. It was like he was four years old again coming over to Dean's bed and asking to sleep under the covers with him for the rest of the night after a bad dream. However, Dean refused to push him away, allowing the formidable chick-flick territory to be crossed for once. Maybe somewhere in Sam's feverish mind he needed this sort of touchy feely self-help...and maybe Dean did too.

"Shhh. It's okay Sammy, it was just a dream."

Sam didn't let go. "Dean we were dead. You were dead," he stammered.

"Sam we're not dead. We're alive and breathing. It's okay, now lie back down. You don't want to do anymore damage, come on," he gently helped Sam lie back down.

Sam panted scrunching his eyes shut. Dean pulled the covers back up and rubbed little circles on his chest, much like he would use to do. Even though it looked awkward, it didn't feel that way. He was comforting his little brother, and after everything that happened, they deserved a family moment.

"It's okay."

"Just a dream. It was just a dream," Sam said repeating the mantra several times. After a long  
moment, he took a deep breath. "Dean?" his voice sounded so small and unsure.

"Present! I'm not going anywhere. And it's about time you're awake too. I was going stir crazy just looking at these damn walls. They seriously need to hire an interior decorator. Need to put some color in here. Hell I'll do it!"

"We're alive?" Sam latched onto his hand as if to confirm it was true.

Dean squeezed back in reassurance, grimacing at the strain sitting was putting on his leg and his rib. "Yeah Sammy, we're alive. Alive as we can be and in pain with tetanus on the side. Just the way I like it," he answered sarcastically.

"How long?"

"Well, hopefully at least another fifty years, minus the pain and the tetanus, of course."

"No, I meant how long have we been here?"

"Oh, as far as I can tell almost two days."

Sam gasped as if realizing something important. "Oh my God, you were shot."

"Yeah, but it's just a flesh wound. Nothing biggie."

Apparently that didn't register in the kid's head. "I heard you go down. I couldn't..."

"Hey don't think about that. I'm here. I'm still kicking. Well..." he looked down at his leg, "sort of! And I'm pretty sure Dad is going to grill into that cop's ass and pound him into a million pieces once he gets here."

"Dad's not here?"

Dean sighed. "No."

"Where...where is he?"

"I don't know."

"You called him right?"

"Duh! But you know as usual, voicemail. Don't worry, I left enough messages that I'm pretty sure their gonna kick us out soon because I burned up this place's bill."

"What about Bobby or Pasture Jim?"

Dean shook his head. "I can't remember their numbers. They were all logged on my cell and you know where that is. Besides the phonebooks are not going to be any help because they're both with Dad."

"Okay," the kid's voice slurred, his eyes suddenly drooping.

Dean took the hint. "Dad'll get here. You go back to sleep and no more nightmares, capeish?"

"Ca...piesh."

"Good," he stood up and limped back to his bed, slowly pulling himself onto it.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Dad still loves us right?"

"Of course he does. Why the hell would you think that?"

"He's not here."

"Sam he'll be here. He's just busy," Dean said.

"He's always busy."

Disappointed, Dean was about to reply when he turned and saw the kid's eyes closed and the steady rise of his chest. He shook his head, it wasn't worth arguing with him over his dad anymore. But it did make him wonder.

He stayed awake wondering about his dad for awhile. He knew it was just two days. That's all. But still the John Winchester he knew would have been there by now once he knew that both of his sons were in the hospital. In the back of his mind, a tiny voice (that never seemed to shut up) kept suggesting that possibly their father was in some form of trouble, otherwise he would have arrived by now. He certainly hoped not, because they too were in a sort of bind. But the instinctual gut feeling he relied on so much had not so much as wiggled. With that notion, he felt a little bit better. He just hoped that John's absence didn't mean that John favored the hunt more than them, because then...that would mean Sam was right.

Distraught over the latter thought, Dean fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

He awoke sometime later with a hiss. Fiery pangs shot up through his leg and it felt like the entire thing was on fire. He clutched it tenderly, messaging it in parts. The morphine must have worn off because now it felt like spikes were being drilled through the puncture wounds slowly. He cringed when he pressed on a swollen area, biting his lip so not to scream out in pain and alert the entire staff on the hallway. Sweat began to bead around his forehead as the pain continued to increase.

He heard rustling on the bed next to him.

"Dean?" the squeak of his brother's voice sounded.

Dean panted, concentrating on breathing through pain. "What Sammy?" he gasped through clenched teeth, before turning towards his brother and paling.

Sam was on his side and his pallor was that of a soylent green, his skin clammy with sweat plastered all over his face. His eyes were wide and fearful. "I want dad," he sobbed.

The older brother couldn't help but be alarmed. That wasn't like Sam to be calling out for his father. "What's wrong?" his voice shook.

Sam panted, "I don't feel so good."

"Sam?"

"Right here," he grimaced, clutching his chest, "pain...and...it...won't go away."

The fear in Sam's voice gave Dean the motivation to push past his own mind-numbing pain and swing his legs off the bed. "Hang on. I'm coming."

"Dean!" Sam cried. "It's...hard...to breath," he started coughing. After two hacks, the dark sticky contents of blood came out and splattered over the white sheets.

"Oh shit," Dean blurted.

"Dean, what's happening?"

"I...don't...know," Dean grimaced putting weight on the bad leg. He tried his best to limp over the small clearing, but it was too much on his leg and it buckled sending him down to the floor just as Sam lurched forward and puked up more blood.

Dean rolled away before the yucky matter hit him on the ground. He latched onto the small table and used all his strength to pull himself up. Quickly once he regained his footing, he slammed his fist against the emergency button on the wall several times.

"Dean!"

"Sam," he limped over to the kid's side. Sam peered up at him terrified, his teeth stained with the color of blood. "Hang in there, help's coming."

Sam had vomited a third time when the staff finally rushed in. Immediately, a nurse and a couple orderlies pulled Dean back.

"No, I have to stay with him," he protested as the other nurses came in and laid Sam down on his back.

"What's going on?" Dean heard Allie come in.

Once she had reached Sam's side and applied her stethoscope to his chest, Sam's body went limp.

"Damn," Allie yelled, "He's got some internal bleeding. Fluid may be surrounding his heart. Get the needle. We gotta move fast people before he goes into cardiac arrest."

Dean's heart plummeted. "Sammy!"

"Stay back. You need to get back in bed now," the nurse in front of him ordered.

"No. I have to get to my brother," Dean pushed forward.

"Stay back."

"We can't work here," Allie bellowed. "Get the sedative!"

"No. No I can't let him go. No, get off me!"

"Shit! He's gone into cardiac arrest," Allie screamed. "Get the paddles now!"

"Sammy!" Dean threw out a fist connecting it with the nurse's nose. The little woman screamed out in pain falling to the ground. He fought off the two other orderlies and knocked them down to the ground. "Sammy no!"

Caught off guard by another nurse, Dean felt the pinprick of a needle in the side of his hip, and immediately his vision started to fade out. "No, not my brother," he slurred. His body swayed and the last thing he saw was the fast approaching floor. The last sound he heard before succumbing to the utter sweet bliss of darkness was that of the defibrillator going off.

**Sorry, I just had to mess with Sammy one more time. Ooh I think you guys are going to like the next chapter as it includes what some of you have been waiting for: John's return. I'll get it up as soon as I can. Take care.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Holy Machachos man, I'm so sorry people, I hadn't intended for it to take this long. But as I'm in the final two weeks of school, last minute assignments kept popping up. So things have been particularly crazy especially since I'm graduating college next weekend... and ready to take my first step out into the real world *gulp*. Anyway, I know some of you have been waiting for this. And here it is, I just hope it's to your liking. See ya!  
**  
The storm had been raging for a good part of a week. Torrents of rainwater streamed against the windshield of John's monster truck as he drove down the long black highway heading home. And the wind was relentless in that he found himself constantly steering to the right to keep on the road. The weather certainly didn't help the mood he was currently in. He was really sore, extremely fatigued, and wanted nothing more than a decent hot shower when he arrived to his current residence. Since it was nearly dawn, he decided to get a few hours sleep first and wait until the afternoon to leave for a new town.

It had been a long hunt in tracking down and executing the shapeshifter. He and Caleb scoured every inch of the city trying to find the bastard responsible for five murders all within two weeks. Pasture Jim stayed behind as recon. It wasn't long before they found the shapeshifter, shaped like a homeless man begging for cans. It was only until John realized that no homeless man would be begging for cans that it got the surprise on him. Luckily Caleb was there to back him up or else he wouldn't have come out of it with only a bruised temple and a smashed phone.

After the job was done and the creature's remains were burnt to ashes, he instantly rushed out of there, not only to avoid the cops, but to get back to his boys. He hadn't expected the hunt to take longer than three days. And with no phone service, he would just have to hurry back. But with the storm the way like it was, he was forced to go slower than usual. Even the trusty traction of his truck's tires were no match against the hail-like forces.

He couldn't wait to see his boys, even if he was a little irate at his youngest. Sometimes he didn't understand why the kid felt the need to question him about every little thing. Why couldn't he be more like Dean where he took orders without question? He was doing the best he could in trying to keep them safe, in teaching them how to rely on each other, in teaching them how to survive. Wasn't that what was important?

Okay, yes, he could understand why his youngest was so apt to releasing his temper. He was just like him. And he could understand why he was angry with him most of the time as he was hardly ever there, hardly ever being a real traditional family. But he did care about what they wanted. Unfortunately though, the concept that it was of the utmost importance to save civilians lives was instilled in his head. And it is true, saving peoples lives or making sure other families didn't suffer the same fate as theirs was important, the reward he told himself. Hopefully soon his boys will see it the same way. Sam might need a little more convincing though.

But...the little voice in the back of his head told him on some level he was wrong. It wasn't fair that his kids couldn't experience the level of normalcy they deserved. It wasn't fair that instead of him reading bedtime stories before going to bed, he had them recite spells and clean weapons. But that was the price that was to be paid for this life, no way no foul. Maybe that's really what Sam was always grumbling about. Well, too bad. They all didn't have a choice.

The anticipation for a little 'R and R' grew in intensity as he pulled the truck over on the dirt road that led to the farm house. It was a few moments later when he suddenly realized something was amiss. It was dark--too dark. His gut instinct immediately struck a chord alerting him that something wasn't right. He should've been able to see the outer lighting of the house from afar. The kids were always supposed to keep the lights on. If Sam was trying to pull something, so help him.

A few seconds later, the outline of the gravel driveway loomed into view and he had to slam on the brakes to be able to pull into it in time. The bright headlights of his truck caught sight of the house. What he saw caused his stomach to do an involuntary flip and he slammed on his brakes in response. His mouth fell open, the complete look of shock and horror plastered over his face. The house was completely destroyed, left in pieces and shambles with yellow caution tape encircling the perimeter.

All sense of exhaustion forgotten, he scrambled out of his seatbelt, ramming hard against the door, which to his dismay would not open fast enough. The pelting rain could not and would not hold him back as he ran as fast as his tired legs would allow to the remains of his home screaming like a maniac.

"DEAN. SAM. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. DEAN. SAM!"

He reached the part where the front door should have been. All that remained was a huge tree through the middle with large slabs of broken timber and walling on top. He ran around the outer edges becoming drenched, the rain water soaking him down to his skin.

"DEAN. OH MY GOD!"

It was fear that now enshrouded everything and clouded his judgment. It was fear that gave him the surprising strength to pick up one of the wet broken banisters that laid on top of the rubble. He threw it to the side. "SAM. DEAN".

The first disturbing thought that entered his head that a demon came through. It wouldn't be surprising as he had pissed off quite a few of them recently! But he exorcised every one of them he had met, and there was no way they could've found out about his boys. There was only so few people he trusted that knew he had a family. And they wouldn't betray his kids existence or whereabouts no matter how bad he pissed them off. No, this couldn't be happening. Not now!

He paused picking up the timber when his strength failed him. Backing away, he paused leaning down on his knees, breathing heavily. "Okay. Just think. Calm down John and think," he told himself many times. He looked up surveying the scene.

If a demon had come by and his boys were hurt or...nope can't think about that. No, they're fine. They have to be fine. But what if? No, it couldn't be...the wards were in place and there was at least one devils trap sketched surreptitiously over every room door. So...

But then what about the caution tape?

That meant that the authorities had to have come by. And if that was the case then the boys were either at the hospital or the morgue. Either way they shouldn't be here. With that notion, he straightened up and ran back to the front of the house where he noticed first the Impala was gone. Hoping only for the best, he took off back towards his truck. Of course without his phone, there was no way he could call ahead which only aggravated his worries. In record time, he was burning rubber on the road heading towards town like a bat out of Hell.

----------------

It wasn't long before he found the hospital and stormed through the front lobby doors. The receptionist at the visitors desk sat back in her chair alarmed when the sopping man slammed into the counter, showering her with sticky raindrops.

"I need to know if my sons are here. Are they admitted? My..." John half-shouted frantically.

"Calm down sir. Take a minute and calm down," the receptionist demanded softly, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Don't tell me to calm down. I have to find my boys!"

"Alright sir, what are their names?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester," John said leaning closer towards the woman who immediately began typing on a computer. She looked ancient with wrinkly fingers and white frizzy hair and John secretly wondered if her fingers would crinkle and snap off, due to all the cracking sounds they emitted.

A split-second later, a tiny beep sounded from the machine.

"Okay, yes. We do have a Sam and Dean Winchester admitted..." she answered.

"Oh my God. How are they?"

The lady shook her head which cricked loudly as well, "I'm sorry sir. I'm not aware of their condition. But there is an urgent message here that says to alert Dr. Page to meet you if a parent or guardian arrives," the woman said curtly.

John peered at her impatiently. "Okay then hurry up. Call him. Get his ass down here. I need to see my sons."

The receptionist gave him a sour look as she picked up a handset. She punched in a few numbers after reading off the computer screen. "Ah yes, Dr. Page. This is the front lobby. I have a man here claiming to be a couple of your patients father, a Sam and Dean Winchester...Oh. Yes. I'll be sure to tell him that, thank you," she hung up looking up to the frazzled slightly intimidating man. "Dr. Page is coming down right. Please have a seat in the waiting area, she pointed over to a small room to the right of them.

John paused looking at the small room with red-rimmed eyes.

"Please," the receptionist urged.

Reluctantly, John walked towards the little room leaving a sopping trail behind him. He strolled into the empty room with many leather-seated chairs. But he couldn't find the longing to sit, he was too wired, too worried about his boys. So he took up the one habit that dulled the seemingly debilitating feeling of dread...pacing.

Though it had seemed like eternity when the mere reality was only a few minutes, the doctor arrived eagerly and somewhat out of breath. He was quite surprised to see that the doctor was a woman, but that didn't matter.

"Dr. Page?"

"Yes," the woman answered, "And you're Mr. Winchester?"

"The name's John. My sons. How're my sons?"

"They're in the Intensive Care Unit. They've been here for the past two and a half days. We've been trying to contact you."

John shook his head in disappointment, more like shame. "My phone. My phone was...lost. I haven't been able to get another one. But that doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I need to know what's going on. What...How...Where are they? You said they're in the ICU. Are they critical? Tell me dammit," he rambled forcefully.

"Please calm down Mr. Winchester," Allie requested.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I'm tired of people telling me to calm down. This can't be happening. I come home and my house is destroyed and my boys are nowhere to be found. I want to know what's going on. I want to know about my sons now!"

"Please sir, try to remain decent. If not, then we'll have no choice but to have you escorted off the premises," Allie enforced, staring the man down.

"You have no right to keep me away..."

"As director of this hospital sir, I do," she interrupted fiercely, "Now please I will take you to your sons, but you need to keep your voice down, your anger in check, and be calm about this. Are we in agreement?"

He had to admit the woman had guts. Surely anybody else would have backed down once they were subjected to the John Winchester dominant hard core glare he mainly used as a scare tactic. Naturally it usually worked. This time it didn't. Despite his volatile behavior, she did have a point. There was another time and place for unleashing his pent up anger.

"Yes mame," he reluctantly agreed.

"Thank you. Now follow me."  


* * *

  
Careless of leaving a watery trail which had the crickety receptionist calling for clean up, John followed the doctor at a brisk pace. They hopped on the elevator and took it to the fourth floor. After exiting, Dr. Page took an immediate left down a long hallway at an inconceivably fast pace that John found he had to jog to keep up. Soon she paused outside a window peering into a room.

"What is it?" John asked looking into the window, immediately letting out a gasp. Sam was in there, lying so still on a gurney covered in many white sheets. "Sam."

Dr. Page looked at him from the corner of her eye. "John."

John couldn't take his eyes off the boy in the bed who seemed to be hooked up to many machines. "I need to get in there. I need to see my boy," he said desperately.

Allie nodded giving him permission.

John entered the room and rushed over to the bed and sat on it. Sam was extremely pale, his cheeks slightly sunken in, and a red tinge underlining his eyes. His skin felt cool to the touch when he picked up his hand.

"Sammy," John called out.

The boy made no movement, not even a twitch. There were several cuts and abrasions along his face along with a mottled bruise that decorated his right temple with various yellows and purples. A blood bag hung on an IV pole by the bed, which John noticed was attached to his boys elbow. And a tube was inserted into the corner of Sam's mouth obviously supplying him with oxygen.

"What happened?" he asked with a forlorn tone.

Allie approached the bed. "According to your eldest, he said a tree fell down on top of your house."

"A tree?" John looked skeptical. He instantly thought back to the image of the house and noticed the large pine centered in the middle under all the rubble. Could it be that what was what really happened...or was it something his oldest said to bypass the authorities?

"Oh that tree," John answered. He wanted to believe it; anything to make him feel at ease that his family was not numero uno on some demon's hit list.

He looked back at Sam. "How bad?"

The doctor took a deep breath before answering. "Sam sustained critical injuries. Two of which he was impaled. We stitched them up to the best of our ability. He also sustained a fracture to his left ankle which will require a cast in a few days. But right now we're prepping him for the OR, and we're giving him a blood transfusion to stabilize him."

"Why?"

"Mr. Winchester. Just a few hours ago your son went into cardiac arrest," Allie explained, briefly glancing away from the shock the father was displaying, "So far as we can tell the metal rod that impaled Sam's left side nicked something, either his intestines or part of the stomach, and unfortunately it's causing some internal bleeding, which is what caused the cardiac arrest. Fluid was surrounding his heart, so we had to perform a periocentesis to drain it. We did have to defibrillate him, but we were able to get him back. Right now the surgery is not due for another few hours, but mainly it's to go in, find out what's causing the damage and repair it."

John's grip on his youngest's hand tightened.

"What...what do you think...is wrong?" he found it rather hard to talk.

"My best guess is that either in the previous surgery one of our surgeons missed something, which more than likely is not the case, or one of the stitches broke and toxic fluid seeped out. It's not uncommon, but it is treatable. But I do have to warn you Mr. Winchester, the odds are not in Sam's favor right now."

John gave the doctor a feeble smile, "Sam is strong, doctor. He'll prove it to you. He'll prove it to you all."

"For Sam's sake, I hope you're right. We'll let you know as soon as we have results."

John nodded in understanding. That was not exactly what he wanted to hear, and he couldn't shake the guilt that festered. The last time he saw his child he picked a fight with him, and now he was in critical condition. "I'm so sorry Sammy. I'm sorry," he softly whispered. He looked back up at the doctor, "Where's Dean?"

"Dean is currently one floor above us. I'll take you to him," Allie answered leaving out of the room.

John regrettably let go of Sam's hand, looking down at his son one more time before following the doc out the door.

* * *

Allie patiently led the father towards one of the solitary rooms towards the back of the hospital on the above floor. Upon entering the dimly lit room, John was surprised to see his eldest curled in on his side asleep, and not awake, strapped down, and eager for news.

"Dean?"

He hurried over to the bed and sat beside him. "Dean, it's dad," he said to him softly, gently pulling down the boy's shoulder. What he saw had his blood boiling with rage. Dean's eyes were at half-mast, peering at him sluggishly. He emitted out a few moans before flittering his eyes shut.

John's lip curled. "You sedated him? Why?" he half-shouted.

"Mr. Winchester, please try to understand..."

"You had no right..."

"Actually sir, we did," she cut him off abruptly, glowering angrily at the man, "When your other son went into cardiac arrest, Dean went hysterical. He wouldn't let my staff work. He knocked down three of my staff members, one of which her nose is broken. So yes, we had to sedate him for his own safety and my staff's. And you're just damn lucky that we decided against putting him in restraints and have security outside his door."

John was caught off-guard by the woman's powering voice, and found he didn't have a decent answer to uphold the argument. She was right. This was a hospital and under normal circumstances anyone who attacked a staff member would be put in restraints and under lockdown. Oh, wouldn't that just help the current predicament a bit? But then he wasn't surprised at Dean's stubbornness, especially if he was there when Sammy had problems. More than likely he would have done the same thing. Feeling incredibly mute, John set his gaze back on his drugged son.

"He's calmed a great deal since the sedative was administered and mostly he's been sleeping. And we'll gladly take him off the sedative only if you can convince us you can keep him calm and collected and that he won't pose a danger to himself or anybody else. Mr. Winchester, Dean is still suffering from major injuries, some of which can become serious if they were jarred too quickly. I assure you this is just precautionary."

John gave an exasperated sigh squeezing Dean's shoulder. "I understand. There won't be anymore problems, I assure you. I'm here now."

"I'm sorry for all this, but it is necessary," Allie informed him, "Dean should be fine within a week or so. You should take it easy, he's on the mend Mr. Winchester. He did suffer a couple wounds in his leg which we're treating with antibiotics. There were a couple of fractured ribs, and several bumps on his head. But luckily there was no concussion. The stitches in his head should be coming out in a few days, and the bullet wounds are healing nicely."

John shot up, alarmed. "Bullet? What are you talking about?"

The doctor sighed, appearing uncomfortable. "Unfortunately sir there was an incident that happened just outside the ER doors. Our police squadron believed Dean had stolen a vehicle and they were in pursuit of him for a good while. And unfortunately, one of our officers believed Dean was reaching for a weapon and...opened fire. He sustained two bullet wounds, one below his collar bone and the other barely avoiding his head."

John's mouth once again found it's way to the floor. "My son was shot?"

Allie backed up seeing the man's face turn crimson and his eyes taking on a unique shade of red. "They were just following protocol. It was an accident."

"Protocol my ass! My boy was shot. That's no fucking accident. Didn't they realize he came to the ER for a reason?"

"I'm not fully aware of the precise actions of the event. All I know is it happened. I'm sure one of our officers will explain it to you in more detail."

"No. What the hell is wrong with this place if your stupid good-for-nothing officers shoot at people?"

"I told you sir, it was an accident," Allie pleaded. She continued to back up as she was becoming scared, "I shouldn't have said anything."

John's eyebrows flung up. "Now that pisses me off even more, lady," he said dangerously.

* * *

  
"You told him!" Officer Page yelled over the phone.

"I didn't have any other choice, Travis. He had to know what happened to his son, and by law you know I had to tell him," Allie argued.

"Jesus, Allie!"

"That's why I'm calling. You better get prepared, because he's on his way and he is pissed!"

"How pissed?"

"I'll put it to you this way, you know how angry my Uncle Jack got when a drunk plowed into his new convertible?"

"Yeah?"

"Try ten times worse. I'm surprised I didn't see steam rising!"

The sound of screeching tires could be heard over the phone, "Oh shit," Travis exclaimed.

"What?"

"He's here."****

Don't worry we haven't seen the end of John's reaction. Again sorry for the wait guys. But life has been an ice cream bowl full of cwaaazy with psychosis sprinkled on top...and let's not forget the cherry of madness. I don't know when I will be able to update as this week is finals week and like I said I'm graduating, meaning the parents (dun..dun..dun) are coming down. So I will try to get it up soon, probably *fingers crossed* by Thursday. The story is not too far from being over. Like I said it was meant to be short.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Pines and Needles

Hey Guys. It's official, I'm a college graduate and now I must prepare for more school, ugh! But life goes on including this story. Well, here it is, the next installment of this fic. It's interesting as it explores some of John's fatherly side. You'll what I'm talking about. Enjoy.

The tires off the grand monster truck grounded to a halt in front of the small rectangular building. John hopped out of his truck, slamming the door shut causing the window pane to splinter. A beam of lightning flashed behind him obscuring his figure as he stormed towards the main entrance door. He could already see a few of the officers inside stare at him fearfully. It only fueled the anger writhing inside him, the vestiges coiled up like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

He threw open the door so hard, he believed the hinges cracked. "I want to know who the bastard is that shot my son," he bellowed out in his most threatening voice.

The two officers behind the desk froze, speechless, uncertain of what to do.

A blonde officer with short cropped hair glided out from behind the counter. The name Page gleamed in bold print on his nametag. "Now hold right there sir."

"The hell I am," John stood up to him, towering over his head by about a foot. "Where is he? Was it you?"

"No sir, it was not. But there is an explanation," Page offered, not willing to stand down, even if he was a little intimidated.

Other squadron leaders ran out from their offices to see the commotion. They all gathered in the little lobby. Some took a step back from seeing the threatening stature of the giant-like man, believing one false move and they all would end up six feet under.

"Why?" John asked stepping closer to Page.

"Sir you need to calm down and step away," another officer behind the desk said.

"No I will not calm down. I want answers. I want to know why you pathetic scum you call officers felt the need to shoot my son, when he was unarmed, injured, and trying to save my other son," he spat as he faced the other officer, a bit of spittle flying out. "You tell me right now who did it!"

He took a look around noticing all the officers eyes were on him and each and every one slowly reaching for their weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a lanky officer huddled in a corner appearing guilt-ridden. A rosy tint blossomed on the man's cheeks and he shied away. John's eye twitched, a shiny glint forming.

"Right now. I want to know right now, who shot my son!" John bellowed testing the men to see if they would give up one of their own.

"What's going on out here?" a tall middle-aged officer asked stepping out from a large office located in the back.

"Rich this is the father of the two kids," Page informed him.

The main officer's face lit up in surprise, his dark bushy eyebrows peaking into his peppered hair. "Mr. Winchester I presume?"

"You got that right," John replied darkly approaching the man, "Perhaps you can explain why all this happened."

"Mr. Winchester you must understand. Your son was traveling at dangerous speeds, far over the reckless driving record. And when he didn't pull over immediately, we had to assume the worst. It's part of our procedure," Rich explained.

John leered at him incredulously, "Didn't you assholes get a clue why he was speeding when he pulled up into the hospital? It doesn't take a rocket scientist!"

"Again we had to assume the worst. What happened was an accident. It won't happen again. But none of this would have happened if your son had only obeyed the law. And it didn't help when he also would not listen to any of our commands…"

"So that gives you the right to shoot him?" John screamed advancing towards the man.

Several of the surrounding officers reactively launched forward, grabbing a hold of John's arms, and pulled them back, keeping him restrained. The act only spurred on John's fury. He twisted around throwing some of them off, and stepped forward again, only for more fellow authorities to spring forward and latch onto him. The weight of the many officers pulling him back overcame his own strength and power and he was dragged backwards.

"We are sorry for this inconvenience. But what happened is over. Now please go back to your sons. We're done here," Rich said walking back towards his office.

The officers led John out of the complex gently, so as not to aggravate the man any more than necessary. Officer Page stepped up beside him, "I'm sorry sir for it to be this way. It really was an accident. But I'll have you know the problem was taken care of. Your boys are safe now. You should go back to them. They need you more there than they need you here."

John glowered at the man.

Page took that as his cue to stop and leave. "Have a good day sir," he said strolling back into the building.

John gave one last look at the main door, eying the lanky officer who now stood by the door watching his every move. He smirked reading the nametag 'Jenkins'. "Oh we are so not done here."

-

John pulled his Godzilla-sized truck into the hospital parking lot. Exhaling out a long exhausted breath, he lowered his head onto the steering wheel. He could feel his reserves slowly approaching empty; the exhaustion from the hunt, the drive, and the shock from witnessing his sons terribly injured taking over. His recent surge of anger serving as part of his adrenaline now was depleted. But he had to keep going. He had to stay strong for his sons.

Walking achingly into the hospital, he made his way over to the elevator taking it up to the fifth floor towards Dean's room. The doors slid open and Dr. Page stood on the other side eyeing him with discontent.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Let me guess," John began annoyed, "You're here to make sure I came straight back to the hospital and not go after the jackass who did this to my son?"

"Not only," Allie smiled, "I'm also here to tell you that Sam went into surgery about half an hour ago and we'll know more about his condition in a couple of hours."

John stepped off the elevator, taking another long breath. Now he had to deal with the agonizing wait to see if his youngest would pull through. Closing his eyes briefly, he silently prayed to his dead wife that she would look after him. He needed Sam to come out of this, he didn't know what he would do if the odds fell through.

He turned back to the doctor. "Okay. I'm going to stay with Dean and wait there for news."

Allie nodded whirling around and taking off down an adjacent hallway.

John stumbled back to Dean's room looking forward to sitting down in a chair, even if it would be a little uncomfortable. He opened the door and paused in alarm when he saw the bed was empty.

"Dean?"

Violent retching could be heard in the bathroom towards the back of the room. Moving swiftly across the small space, he ran into the doorway and saw his son wrapped around the toilet, resting his head on the porcelain rim. Globs of yellow bile dotted his chin and drooled off his bottom lip.

"Dean?" John called out.

Dean didn't answer. His eyes remained closed and his forehead was coated with perspiration. His bandaged leg lay splayed out in front of him, while his other was bent underneath it.

John quickly slid in behind his back, propping him against his chest for support. He didn't want to take him back to bed yet in case he wasn't done puking.

"I'm here Dean," he whispered encouragingly to his eldest, patting his chest, "I'm here."

It was as though Dean didn't hear him or felt him there as he launched forward and vomited some more into the bowl.

"There you go buddy, let it out," John rubbed his back, understanding that this was probably a reaction to the sedative once it was dissipating from his system. Cringing against the rancid smell, John pulled the toilet's lever.

The exhaustion was well apparent as Dean fell back against his father's chest. John took the hem of Dean's hospital gown and wiped the sweat off his brow, neck, and lips. "There, that'll help."

"Dad?" Dean whispered.

"Yep. It's me Dean."

"Dad. Sammy?"

"He's in surgery. We'll know more soon," he informed him. Squeezing him a little tighter, he asked firmly, "Dean, I need to know. This accident, was it just a tree?"

Dean slowly nodded his head.

"You're absolutely sure it wasn't a demon or anything else?"

Dean nodded his head again. "Just a tree," he gasped.

John let out a held breath. At least there wasn't another problem to be dealt with for now.

A miserable groan escaped from his eldest throat. Dean scrunched his eyes shut clamping his right hand over his left shoulder. "Dad. Dad. T-they s-shot at me," his voice shook.

"I know. I know son. But don't worry, he'll get what coming to him," John caressed his forehead.

"I'm s-sorry D-d-dad."

"For what?"

There was no reply.

"Dean?" John looked over at his son's face and saw his eyes were closed. The decision was made; it was time to get Dean back to bed.

"Okay son, time to get up," John said getting to his feet and pulling Dean up from under his arms. The trek across the room was hard as John practically was carrying his son across the floor, but eventually he settled his boy back into bed. He called in a nurse to check him over and set the torn off equipment back up. Soon after the nurse left, John fell into a light doze.

-

Slowly Dean crept among the conscious awareness and became more aware of the aching heaviness the sedative had on his system. He awoke emitting out a few groans, licking his dry lips gingerly. He tried to open his eyes, but it was incredibly difficult as it felt like they were fastened in place.

"Dean, you awake?" a stern voice brought him out of his droning state of darkness.

He opened his eyes to slits and groaned again, seeing the blurry outline of his father. "Yeah, but I don't to be" he slurred inaudibly.

"How're you feeling?" his dad asked softly.

"Like shit."

"Yeah, that's expected. It's probably from all the drugs in your system. See, this is why we tell you not to do drugs," John told him comically.

Dean snorted.

"Don't worry, it'll go away soon."

Dean took a couple deep breaths, waiting for his vision to come back into focus. He looked back at his father sitting in the less-than-appealing plastic chair. "Any word on Sammy?"

John shook his head. "Not yet. He went into surgery a few hours ago. I dozed off for a couple of those hours, but no one's come yet," he responded despondently.

Dean was totally taken by surprise about his father. His father's tone somewhat had him relieved, now fully witnessing that the indomitable John Winchester did have a soft side and it was reserved only for his two sons. It relieved him a great deal to learn that his father still loved them, even when he didn't think he wasn't going to show.

But then the idea of no news on his brother's well-being for hours might have been bad news. A deep fear prickled at his skin. He wanted to get up and demand answers but he was so tired, he couldn't find the will to move. He was such a horrible brother.

"God Sammy. I'm sorry," he cried out softly, "I'm sorry for not being the brother you needed."

"Shhh, don't talk like that Dean," John calmly told him.

"No, it's the truth. I shouldn't have taken him off those rods. I should've been there for him, got to him in time before he fell. I should've been able to save him from all this," Dean whimpered.

"You did save him, Dean. You got to him in time and you got him out of the house," his father's strong voice said sternly, "Dean, don't go blaming yourself for this. You did the best you could. There was no way you could've known that a tree, of all things, was going to fall on the house. And if there is anybody to blame, it's me. I meant to cut that tree down a long time ago, but I refrained from that because I was too preoccupied with other things. You did everything you could."

"He was…"

"No Dean," John interrupted, not wanting his son to meddle with guilt on top of recovering, "You got Sammy and yourself out. And if you didn't, I would be arranging for funeral arrangements right now. Give yourself some credit dude. He's going to be okay. Just watch."

Dean sniffed, closing his eyes.

"Go back to sleep Dean. You won't be thinking like this once the drugs are out of your system. When you wake up, we'll know about Sammy alright. Believe in your brother Dean, he's strong," John said, praying to whoever was listening that he wasn't wrong.

"Okay Dad," Dean agreed, falling back into his blissful slumber once more.

John lowered his head down into his hands. The stress was becoming a bit much. The anticipation on news for Sam was about to put him into anaphyleptic shock. He scrunched the bristled hairs off his head. _Come on Sammy. Come back to me son._

-

"Dr. Page?"

Allie looked up from her paperwork at being addressed to facing a man in surgical scrubs with a cap. "Yes, Dr. Lambert. How well did the surgery go?"

"Complete, but with complications. We lost him twice on the table," the surgeon announced.

"Oh dear God," Allie exclaimed. "What's his condition now?"

"Unstable. We've kept him inside the surgical unit in case his vitals take a turn for the worst. A couple of our nurses are with him right now. So far he's on another blood transfusion."

"Just one. His system won't be able to handle much more," Allie ordered.

"Yes mame. We did find what was causing the problem and it was what you had expected. A couple of the previous stitches were broken and fluid was leaking fluently. I need permission that after this transfusion we put him through dialysis, in case all the fluid was not drained."

"I understand. And yes, I agree with the dialysis. Right now, we need to make sure that this will not happen again, make sure the stitches won't break. And monitor him more closely, keep him on extra IV fluids. I'll come in to assess him soon and hopefully take him to recovery once he is able."

"Understood. Thank you Dr. Page," Dr. Lambert said before leaving.

Allie sighed, sitting back in her chair. "Now I gotta go talk to the father. Let's hope he's in a giddy mood," she said to herself tiredly, standing up and walking briskly out the door.

Okey dokey, one more chapter down. There's more to come. So how did you like John's fatherly side? I definitely wanted to go into that in this story. And don't worry, poor Jenkins, his time will come. I haven't forgotten. The next chapter deals more with the brothers, I'll try to get that up in the next couple days. Cheers!


	8. Chapter 8

Pines and Needles-Chapter 8

Hey guys. Boy, time flies by doesn't it? Okay first off, I'm having computer difficulties, so I hope this works. Well if it does , here it is: the new chapter. Hopefully you'll like this one. Poor Dean, he's so stubborn. I love messing with him. And trust me, we haven't seen the end of John's fatherly side.

Remember I don't own the boys and all mistakes and nastiness are mine. Peace!

The silence that engulfed the room was so heavy; a church mouse could be heard scurrying around on the floor. Not that a church mouse would be found in a hospital, but it definitely would describe the atmosphere to the tee that was in Sam's recovery room. Nothing stirred, except for the steady rhythm of the boy's chest moving up and down with the aid of the ventilator.

John's head laid at the side of his son's hand. His hand firmly attached under his boy's lax fingers, softly thrumming strokes across the soft skin. He closed his strained eyes, seeking some comfort against the overwhelming sense of emotion that threatened to encompass him.

Two days it has been since he received the news of his son's condition. Immediately when the doctor told him, he ordered for his other son to stay put while he went to check on Sam. And since then, he couldn't find the strength or motivation to leave him, believing that if he let go, he might lose Sam forever.

Sam hadn't moved, nor made any inclination of waking up. According to Dr. Page, Sam was in a very unstable condition and only with time were they able to tell if he'd make it. That piece of news certainly put a crimp in John's sanity level, the worry and guilt gnawing hungrily at his insides. Each time when either the doc or nurse came in to check Sam's vitals, he'd clench his son's hand and squeeze hard, not able to let go.

He couldn't let go.

Steadily over the course of those two days, Sam's progress has taken a slow upturn; the bright hue rising in his cheeks, the slow elevation of his blood pressure, and the annoying promises the nurses would make. Things were tentatively looking up. But the phrase 'never count your chickens too early' consistently remained planted at the back of John's mind, and he didn't intend on doing just that. His son was strong and would find the will to hang on. That was all he had to hold on to.

"You know talking to him might not be a bad thing," Allie said to John one afternoon. She came in on a regular check and saw John sitting in his chair, appearing doleful and hopeless. "Sometimes even if they don't look it, they can hear you. Try it. It may be what he needs."

John glanced at her briefly before turning back to Sam, clenching his hand once more.

"Don't give up hope John. Things are looking up. Like you said he's strong. Hold onto that," Allie added, jotting down one last note on her patient's clipboard.

Dr. Page's words took a long moment to register in John's head. It was hard to believe that Sam could possibly hear him. He hadn't tried. And the way Sam lied so still and death-like on the bedspread, it made it even harder to believe.

But maybe she was right.

Maybe if he tried to get through to his son, that Sam would find the will to come back. Well, it couldn't hurt to try.

"Hey Sammy, it's Dad," he began, eying his boy intensely.

Smiling, he continued, now running his hand through Sam's wet hair. "Yeah, I'm probably not the best person you want to hear from right now. But you probably don't want to hear Dean right now, as he's high as a kite…or he was when I last checked on him. You never know what's going to come out of that mouth."

The 'swoosh' of the ventilator sounded distracting him for a second.

"Anyway, I, uh, I just want to say I'm sorry. I don't know what it was like for you and I'm sorry I wasn't there. But I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid anymore. But keep fighting, that's all I…" he paused, unable to find the words.

Feeling mildly uncomfortable at his soft side, he took a deep breath. "I don't plan on letting you go, Sam. You hear me, boy. You stay with us," John whispered sternly.

Throwing his head back not quite believing that the drill sergeant persona was making its grand appearance now of all times, he bit his lip.

"I'm sorry things are so bad between us. I'm trying, I really am. Just please…you and your brother is all that I have left. Don't leave me alone. Don't make me face another loss…I wouldn't know where to start…"

-

"Please sir, stay in bed," the day nurse Melissa ordered politely.

"No. I want to see my brother. It's been two days," Dean argued angrily, attempting to get out of bed, but was limited due to the large brace the staff placed on his leg.

Melissa blew one of her long dark curly tendrils off her face, clearly irritated at the patient's attitude in room 532. "I haven't heard anything more as of yet, but you cannot get out of bed. I'll go see if there's anymore news."

"Nahuh," Dean pointed a finger at her, "That's not good enough. I need to see him. All I keep hearing is 'he's fine, he's fine,' or 'he's doing better', 'we'll know more soon'. I don't care. I want to see him now!"

The nurse huffed, clenching the back of her pink scrubs to keep her frustration in check. "He is. Just be patient…"

"I've been patient long enough. First I hear my brother died twice, and now he's fine, I don't think so. Now let me out of this God-forsaken tombstone you call a bed, and take me to my brother. I'm sure there are patient to patient visiting rights."

"Your brother is in the recovery unit on the fourth floor. Only certain people are allowed in there…" the nurse tried to explain.

Dean cut her off. "Then tell me what I gotta do to become 'certain'," he exclaimed bending his fingers indicating quotation marks.

"I'll have to see what Dr. Page says. There's nothing more I can do for right now. You'll just have to wait," she said leaving hurriedly out the door.

"That's not good enough!" Dean yelled after her, "Hey! Hey, I ain't done talking to you. Hey. Get your fine lily white ass back in here!"

The nurse hadn't returned causing Dean to emit a long growl. He reached over and slammed his fist against the emergency button. Seconds later, the same nurse came barreling back in.

"Brother!" Dean demanded, wide-eyed.

Melissa shook her head, rolling her eyes before exiting the room once more.

Dean let out a second growl. "Fine. You want to be that way, let's be that way. Fourth floor, huh?"

Already establishing an escape plan, Dean unfurled his blankets, and instantly began unstrapping the black Velcro off the leg brace that covered everything from his ankle to his hip.

"About time too. This thing is just too damn itchy," Dean said to himself scratching some parts of his leg.

Throwing the brace onto the floor, Dean hopped off the bed, keeping most of his weight on his right leg. He hobbled over to the door and peeked out of it, looking left and right. On his right was a nurse's station some hundred feet away where the nurse Melissa sat at, picking up the phone. No one appeared to be down the hallway on his left.

Left it is!

Making sure he stayed out of sight, he limped over to the wall and started limping fast alongside it, with one hand tugging his gown over his backside, making sure that portion of his anatomy was well covered.

Soon an intersection came into view. He halted at the corner, glancing out once to see if anyone inhabited the hallway. So far no one was in sight. He peeked out again turning his head left and right and saw to his pleasure the elevator down on the right side of the hallway. Coming to a conclusion that it was probably best to take the stairs, Dean decided to go against his better logic as his leg throbbed unmercifully. There was no way he'd make it down the stairs in time. The elevator would have to do.

Completely unaware of the wet floor sign caddied at the corner, Dean limped onward, only stopping at the elevator. He slapped the button rapidly several times, nervous that it won't come in time.

"Come on. Come on," he said in a litany, "Come on, come on, come on!"

Ding.

The light at the top of the elevator lit up and the steel doors slowly began to open. Dean's smiled instantly faded, however, when he came face to face with a surprised Dr. Page.

"Dean?"

Dean looked as though he were a deer caught in head lights, "Oh shit." And immediately he took off back the way he came as fast as his favored gate would allow.

"Dean, wait!" Allie called after the gimp.

But Dean wasn't slowing down; he had to get to his brother.

And as his luck would have it, he didn't get very far. The recently mopped floor proved to be a hindrance when his good leg slipped on a very wet portion, causing him to slide rapidly forward.

"WHHHOOOAAA!

His arms propelled haphazardly like windmills trying to maintain his balance as his body continued to slide and spiral down the corridor. Eventually his mock-adventure came to an end when he crashed into a fire-hydrant box, which in turn catapulted him backwards and he slammed into a supply cart.

He landed forcibly down on his backside. He gasped as he saw the cart fall forward, the many heavy boxes, towels, blankets, and bed-linen supplies crashing down on top of him. All that could be heard was a loud muffled groan from under the mass.

Allie ran up to the mess. "Oh my…Dean!" Frantically she started throwing the supplies over her shoulder to free her patient, all the while shaking her head.

"Dean, you okay?" she asked once she saw the puckered face of the stubborn young man.

Dean peered up at her a bit dazed. "Now that's what you call a trip," he slurred.

Allie sighed, "Dean, what am I going to do with you?"

"Sammy?" he asked still dazed.

"Hang on, let's get you up," Allie said grabbing his arms and pulling him up into a sitting position, "First off, how many fingers am I holding up?" she lifted up her two appendages.

"Hmmm, five," he shrugged.

"Oh great," Allie groused, "Let's give you an extra minute, and probably some ice for that newly acquired bump you got."

"Stupendous. I like ice," Dean replied with a big goofy smile.

"I bet you do. You're a stubborn one aren't ya? This probably wouldn't have happened if you had only waited five more minutes. I was on my way to come get you to take you to Sam, as I've heard you were somewhat impatient. I can definitely see that," Allie stood up, "Now wait here while I go get you a wheelchair."

"M'kay."

-

John perked up from his bedside vigil at the door being open and his eldest being rolled in with the most sour look on his face and holding a blue icepack on his head.

"Dean?"

Allie pressed on the break on the back of the wheelchair quite abruptly causing Dean to slump forward. He scowled sitting back up replacing the ice pack on the front of his head.

"What happened to you?" John inquired.

"Your son McQueen here just tried making the Great Escape, but apparently the plan… didn't go as well as planned," Allie answered, pressing the blanket down on his lap evenly. Dean brushed her hand away. "He tried to find his way to the fourth floor, unsupervised, and let's just say he experienced a little waterworks."

"Yeah, no thanks to your janitors. I swear I'm gonna put them on my hit list, next to the brace," Dean grumbled.

Allie rolled her eyes. "I'm sure," she mumbled. Turning back to the father, she said, "I gave him permission to be in here for a couple of hours. I'll have one of my staff members bring him back to bed soon."

She looked down at Dean, "For now, you keep that ice pack on your head. Remember, that was the deal Dean. Especially now since you need more observation after that little stunt you pulled."

"I know," Dean slurred.

"Alright, I'll be back soon," she said before taking her leave.

The corners of John's lips creased as he looked at his son. "Great Escape huh?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Please tell me you covered your rear-end during your flight," John pleaded.

"Oh come on Dad, me? Nooo," Dean asked in mock shame, "Besides I have a lovely looking backside, thank you. I'm sure many of the girls I saw wouldn't have minded."

"Who're you trying to convince?"

"No need to convince anyone Dad," Dean smirked.

"Whatever. You alright?"

"I am now. How's he doing?" Dean asked eyeing Sam for the first time. It came as a total shock that he wasn't too surprised at seeing his brother's pallor…probably because he had seen him in much worse condition.

"He's doing better than he was a couple hours ago. The doc said to talk to him, so that's what I've been doing. Though I'm glad you're here, you probably know more of what to say to him than I do."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, dad. With Sammy, as long as you're talking to him, he'll be glad of it. I swear that kid can pass off as a girl sometimes."

"Uh huh," John looked at him as a father would when one of his children is teasing the other.

Still eying his little brother, Dean took a deep breath relaxing back in his chair. "Did they say how long it would be til he wakes up?"

"No," John sighed, "They were a bit vague in that detail. They don't know."

Sensing his father's distress, Dean proclaimed, "He will wake up. I'm just hoping soon, because I get bored real quick."

"Hey who am I?"

"Let me get back to you on that," Dean replied sarcastically.

"Jackass," John muttered.

-

A few days later found the youngest Winchester weaned off the vent. According to the doc, his vitals were up and looking good and it should be a matter of days before Sam had woken up.

Unfortunately, the youngest member of the Winchester clan saw fit to not wake up and John found he was losing his patience. There were other matters to attend with. If there were ever a time to be patient, this wasn't one of those times. He had to know if his son was okay. If it hadn't been for Dean to keep him in check, who knows how he might react to things.

Dean had been allowed in every day for a couple hours at most before reluctantly being rolled back out and into his own room. His leg was healing rapidly, but the atrophy in the tender muscle and the unpredictable itching fest were certainly a nasty bitch to deal with. It would be a while before he were able to walk properly again. He could hardly wait!

One afternoon, Dean was sitting by Sam's bedside reading a provided magazine when a terrible ache sprouted in his shoulder. Instinctively he rolled it grimacing a little. Across the room, John caught it and unbeknownst to Dean, his eyes narrowed. He glanced at his watch and stoop up.

"I'll be back. Gotta run a few errands in town, get a few things," John informed him.

Dean stared at him, understanding fully what he had intended to do. "Right. Dad Sam's gonna wake up soon."

"I know, but there's something I gotta take care of first. I'll be back soon. Watch over Sammy," John said leaving out the door not giving his eldest the chance to argue back.

Dean turned back in his seat after watching his father leave, sighing grudgingly.

As soon as John left, Allie stepped in carrying a few supplies, "John's leaving?"

"Yeah, he had to do a few things in town, but he'll be back," Dean lied.

"Alright. Well, in that case, guess what buddy-boy? Time to take out your stitches."

"Ah man."

"Yep," she said standing next to him and placing the supplies down on the bedside table, "and you're lucky that I'm allowing for it to be taken care of in here, that way you won't be away from your brother."

"Thanks."

"No problem, now hold still," she commanded gently unwrapping his head bandage.

Dean bit his bottom lip once he felt the cool steel of the scissors biting into his skull. He clasped the wheelchair's handles firmly keeping his eyes on the bedsheets, refraining from making a noise, as he felt the sting from the thread being pulled.

Well, he tried not to cry.

"Whoa. Hey, easy there," he snapped at a particular bad sting.

"Sorry."

The pain didn't stop there. Soon the multiple pangs began to morph into one throbbing mass. He was being to wonder how many stitches he had. Soon he couldn't help himself as he 'eeked' and 'oohed' at every tug.

"Hang on Dean, we're almost done. Only have a few more to go," Allie encouraged.

"Oh good," Dean gasped. "Hurry up then."

"My God, you…whine and mope…like a little girl," a strained voice said.

"Yeah, well, you would be too if…Sammy!" Dean cried out in shock witnessing his little brother's eyes staring at him at half-mast.

"Hey Dean."

"Holy shit," Allie exclaimed, also in amazement.

Dean peered up at her incredulously just as she ripped the last stitch out causing him to scream out.

"Oh sorry Dean," she apologized placing a gauze pad on the raw site, "Here, hold that for me for just a sec."

"Sure no problem," Dean groused with a sneer.

Immediately Allie uncoiled her stethoscope from her shoulders and went over on the other side of Sam's bed. "Hey there Sam. You're finally awake," she said placing the conductor under Sam's gown.

Sam gave a little jerk. Allie pulled it back, breathed on it, and replaced it on the teenager's chest listening to his heartbeat. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," he responded.

Replacing her device around her shoulders, Allie then took out her penlight and shined it into the boy's eyes, completing the standard procedure. "Okay, everything looks good there. I'll be back, gotta get a few things now that you're awake. Keep a hold of that cloth Dean, or suffer my wrath," she joked.

Dean hailed her a salute as she left. He turned back to his brother. "Hey, hey Sammy. Welcome back to the land of the living. What does it feel like?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his voice barely able to reach higher than a high whisper.

"Dude, you died on the table like twice."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But hey look at it this way; you can be classified as zombie status now. Dude, that would be awesome to meet a zombie. I definitely need one for my 'D and D' game," Dean continued.

"Not anymore," Sam piped.

"Oh yeah," Dean replied glumly, now reminded that all of their belongings were indeed a 'goner' as they were still in the house. "So dude, really how're feeling?"

"Well actually I don't feel a thing right now. But ask me again when this crap wears off, and then I'll let you know."

"Ugh…can't wait."

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Was Dad here? I swore I could've heard him," Sam asked shifting over on his side.

"Yeah he was here."

"But it was so weird though."

"Why?"

"Because I could've sworn he said he was sorry. Dad never says he's sorry."

Dean shrugged, "You never know Sammy. He could have. Since we found out what happened to you in surgery, he hadn't left your side since."

Sam looked around. "Well, where's he now?"

"I don't know. He says he's taking care of business in town."

"He's on a hunt?"

"No. He's just running a few errands."

"Oh," Sam bowed his head down.

"Sammy," Dean growled noticing the conclusion in Sam's eyes, "He's not on a hunt alright. I swear to you he just left a few minutes ago and will be back in a few hours, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say Dean. How's your leg?"

Slumping back in his chair, Dean sighed. "Peachy. It's getting better. I can walk on it some, but not much. Still hurts like a bitch, though, but yeah fine and dandy. But enough about me, I'm glad you're okay little brother."

-

The grove of woods where John drove the Impala into gave off an eerie presence, casting darkened shadows into the twilight. The wind blew softly, rustling the dead patches of ground-cover loosely. Swarms of crickets and circadas sang, making the area seem vibrate with activity.

After acquiring the Impala at the impound lot, appearing innocently that he was just there to obtain his vehicle, John waited. As soon as he saw his victim walk freely towards his car, unaccompanied by anyone, and seemingly oblivious to his presence, he made his attack.

Once he arrived towards his pre-destined destination, John hopped out of the Impala and strolled casually towards the back of the trunk. He opened it and glared fiercely into the frightened eyes of the officer Jenkins. Now was the time to teach the little punk a lesson, one he will not soon forget.

-

Phew, that was long, and I'm sorry if it didn't have the correct flow to it or seems stilted. But I wanted to get this chapter up quick. Ooh, poor Jenkins. He really shouldn't have shot Dean, but who knows, his little lesson might be for the best of everyone. Yeah, I woke Sammy up much sooner than I had intended. But like I said, I wanted to get this thing on the road. Stay tuned as things heat up. Just FYI, it has a few chapters left. Hope you like the brotherly moments. Ciao!


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey there. Here's chapter 9. This one gets a little interesting as John's playing the sadistic teacher, Sam's gone all angsty, and Dean…well, Dean's just being Dean. Beware on the first part, it's a little intense. Read on and let me know what you think.**

The detritus crunched loudly under the soles of John's feet as he marched back to his designated spot in the clearing of the woods, carrying a small hatchet in his palm. Jenkins stood tied to a little birch tree just barely grown located conveniently in the middle of the grove. The man trembled violently within his binds, gazing at his captor intensely, uncertain of his fate. Several pathetic whimpers issued out from under the duct tape stretched over his mouth.

The closer John approached the louder and more desperate his whines became. John, unperturbed by the man's frightened display, came up to him and ripped the tape off his mouth.

Jenkins screeched from the forcefulness shown cowering down in front of the stout man before him. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I didn't mean to. I swear. I swear it won't happen to a-any b-body e-else."

"I know," John admitted casually throwing the hatchet down at the officer's feet.

"Oh God," Jenkins squealed, tears falling freely down his battered face, "Please. Please. It was an accident. I'm just a lousy shooter. I know that. Everybody knows that…But…but I'll get better, I swear. Please I swear!"

John's eyes narrowed, "Doesn't matter if you're lousy or not. It's gonna stop tonight. If it happened once, it's bound to happen again."

Jenkins continued to sob and whine. "Please. My father used to be the chief of police. He'll give you anything you want. He'll give you as much as you want."

"I don't want your money," he replied walking away and taking out his nine millimeter.

"Oh God! Please, no. No, don't kill me. I don't want to die!"

John smirked. "Whoever said anything about killing you?"

He aimed and let off two shots. The tree bark on both sides of Jenkins head exploded causing the lanky man to shriek in terror, quivering more frantically in his bonds.

"That was just the start. Now look at me," John ordered fiercely.

Jenkins continued to tremble, slowly rising up and facing John, but avoiding his gaze.

"Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you boy," John yelled, his voice thundering amongst the landscape.

Cautiously, the officer brought his blood-shot eyes up and looked into those of his captor's, panting harshly enough to where John was afraid he'd have a panic attack. Of course, John didn't blame him; he did have that kind of effect on people.

"Good. Now if you thought that was intense, you haven't seen anything yet."

John reached into his back pocket and brought out a pack of matches. "You need to understand that while you have a dangerous weapon in your hands, you cannot be insecure and have no control. That's how people get killed."

He took out a row of matches and lit them up. Jenkins's eyes grew wide, his breathing more labored, as he watched the flames rise high off the little sticks.

"Naturally, this is a lesson: how to react in intense situations. As a cop, you have to be prepared and going in half-cocked and ill trained is not the way to do it," he stepped forward continuing on with his villainy monologue, "Now you're probably lucky as we just had this miserable rain. Wet wood doesn't burn as quickly as dry wood, only creates lots of smoke before you feel the heat. And once you felt it, it's too late, you're already burning."

Jenkins sniffed.

"You see that hatchet? You probably have thirty seconds to a minute at most to cut through that rope before your ass becomes a friggin' Thanksgiving turkey. I suggest you get to it," John said stepping around to the side.

"Please don't do this," Jenkins pleaded, "I'll get better."

"That's the point. There's only one way for you to learn boy. Now…go." John disappeared behind the large trunk and soon the wisps of black smoke began to rise.

Jenkins let out several terrified screams bending forward into his bonds.

"You only have so much time kid. I wouldn't waste it crying," John provoked.

Listening intently and too scared to come up with anything else, Jenkins shifted his body down as far as the three ropes surrounding him would allow, reaching for the tiny axe.

The plumes of black smoke billowed around him making it difficult to see. Sweat formed on his brow quickly from the pressure and strain of stretching for his savior tool. He scrunched his eyes tight, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the end of the handle.

"No time to waste," John goaded, glaring menacingly at the kid.

Jenkins chose to ignore him, struggling to keep his mind on escaping and not his impending doom of burning to death. The sounds of fire crackling and the smell of burning wood shook him down to his core reactively causing him to launch further into his binds enabling him to grab a hold of the hatchet.

Now in control and concentrating on one thing, Jenkins set to work on running the dull red blade through the thick binds. The smoke grew denser, blacker, hotter, forcing the officer to cut faster. Wide-eyed he maneuvered the head up and down, until finally two bonds were freed. With one left, Jenkins moved faster, flinching at the heat now surrounding him.

"No. No. I can get it. I can get it," the man said silently, still moving faster. The heat was now on him, scorching him, terrifying him further. He screamed, "NOOOOO," and with one last stroke, the rope broke apart sending him crashing into the damp earth.

Slightly relieved, Jenkins sat up and back-crawled away from the tree as if it were the devil incarnate.

John remained in his spot beside the tree still staring at the man. He clicked on the safety mechanism on his firearm and threw it at the officer's feet. "Pick it up."

Jenkins bowed his head, "Please no more. You tried to kill me!"

"Have I?" John raised an eyebrow.

Jenkins gaped at him confused until he looked behind the tree and saw a small campfire ablaze and realized the tree never was on fire. He gasped out of disbelief. "You're evil Mr. Just evil, evil, evil…"

John chuckled, "Trust me boy. You haven't seen real evil. This is nothing compared to that."

"Why are you doing this?" he whined.

John glared at him. "Because you nearly killed my son…and if you had, you really would be dead and no one would find you. Now pick up the gun."

When the officer did nothing, John reached into his jacket and pulled out his other automatic. "Now!"

Jenkins pulled his knees up to his chest, "Please, c-can we stop this for a s-second?"

"No," the militant man replied unloading a few bullets into the ground at the officer's feet. "Now get up and pick up the gun!"

"Okay, alright," Jenkins surrendered scrambling to his feet and shakily picking up the instrument of destruction, rotating it slowly in his grasp until he held it firmly by the handle.

"Good," John praised backing up to the trunk of the recently vacated tree, "Your final lesson is to shoot this tree on both sides of my head, the same thing I did to you."

"What! You're crazy!"

John gave a smug grin, "Maybe. But you said yourself you'll become a better cop, a better marksman. Well, here's your chance."

The gun shook tremendously in the man's hand. "I…I…what if I kill you?"

"Then you would have that to live with for the rest of your life. I suggest you don't."

The man's eyes grew wide again. "I c-can't."

"Yes you can and you will," John urged, giving him the all mighty Winchester stare.

"No. No. I refuse."

"Okay then," John fired off another shot at his feet, "If you don't, it's simple. I will kill you." He let off some more shots, the ground cover spouting off like miniature geysers around the man's feet.

Jenkins bounced back and forth completing a pseudo-Irish dance. "OKAY," he screamed out.

John stopped firing. "Simple and quick. Aim and shoot…No don't close your eyes, you idiot. Aim and fire at the two spots. Now!"

Jenkins pulled the gun up, eying his captor desperately. The gun continued to shake. "I-I can't."

"Shoot!"

"No," he sobbed.

"Now!"

"No, please."

"Do it now. Shoot or I will shoot you, dammit."

"God…"

"Now, you fricken pansy. Shoot or…"

"NOOOO," Jenkins wailed angrily, leveling the gun up and pulling the trigger twice. The bullets sailed through the air each hitting their mark on either side of John's head showering him in pieces of bark.

John smirked blinking the bits of sawdust out of his eyes, "Now that wasn't so bad was it?"

Jenkins fell to his knees exhaling out a long relieved breath. "I did it."

John stepped away from the tree. "Yep, you did. It's funny what fear can do to a person. You see, fear can be a tricky thing. You never know what you're capable of when you put fear into the mix, and only those who are able to control it can be formidable. Remember that kid, and maybe someday it'll save your life."

Tears began to make their way down the officer's face. "Holy shit," he breathed, "What now?"

"You get to find your own way home. Consider that a part of your lesson."

"You can go to jail for this, you know?"

"I know, but I'm not worried. I need to get back to my boys…And if you do decide to talk, you know where to find me," John relayed, walking away back towards the Impala.

-

A knock sounded at the door alerting Dr. Page that someone needed invitation to enter her small office.

"Come in," Allie called out without looking up from her laptop.

The door opened and entered the day nurse Melissa, seemingly frazzled and irritated. "Hi Dr. Page."

"Melissa, hi. What can I do for you?"

"Well there is a little problem."

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine…but, uh," she sighed, "I wouldn't be coming to you if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but the kid in 532 is going stir-crazy. Is there anyway we can bring his brother back up to his room permanently?"

"Well, what is he doing?" Allie asked confused.

"I think the question should be: what is he not doing?" Melissa began, "So far he's been fiddling with the machines causing the emergency staff to run to his room five times in fifteen minute intervals. He's made thirteen sock pockets out of the room's curtains in the last three hours…don't ask me how he sews them together…though he has been asking for a lot of gum lately," she trailed off.

Allie raised her eyebrows at that statement.

"And," Melissa continued, "He's threatened at least a couple of times to streak down the hallway for quote-on-quote 'the sheer pleasure of feeling the breeze between his legs'."

Dr. Page snorted, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Dean. Dean. Dean. He certainly is a character, isn't he?"

"No need to preach to the choir there."

"Okay Melissa," Allie smiled, "I'm sure it would be no problem, since the younger brother is awake now. I'll come up in a few minutes and complete a transfer. Just hang tight."

"Thank you," Melissa answered relieved traversing back towards the fifth floor.

-

By the time John arrived back at the hospital in the early afternoon, he heard loud voices coming from his older son's room. It concerned him a bit to think that maybe this was the kicker and Dean had lost his marbles after all. When he barged back into the room, he became paralyzed with shock to see his other son's bed adjacent to his brother's bed, the two boys just chatting away merrily.

"Sam?"

The boy looked up genuinely surprised, "Hey dad."

"You're awake?"

Sam nodded about ready to answer when Dean beat him to the punch, "Yeah he woke up a few minutes after you had left yesterday. They just brought him in here a couple of hours ago."

"Oh really, that's great," John exclaimed taking his regular seat by Dean's bed, which was now between both, "How're you feeling, son?"

Sam shrugged, "Not bad. Side hurts a little, but it's okay."

Dean shifted on his side, "Where've you been at? It's almost the afternoon."

"Went to a local motel about twenty minutes from here to get a bit of shut eye," John answered casually.

"Oh really," Dean eyed him skeptically, "So the business you had to take care of, it's taken care of I'm guessing."

"Yeah, it's taken care of."

"What was taken care of?" Sam asked.

Dean and John ignored him. "Dad, he's okay right? You know you didn't have to do that."

"Sure I did, but yes he's fine, Dean…or at least I think he is," John said unaware that his son became slightly paranoid.

"Dad, what makes you think he won't talk?"

John sighed, "I don't know. But I guess if he does, I'll find my way out of jail soon, and then we'll high tail it."

Sam eyed them both concerned and confused. "Okay, what did I miss?"

"Nothing Sammy," John said sternly.

"Don't do that," Sam protested imperatively, "Don't treat me as if I'm not here and shouldn't know what's going on."

John and Dean remained silent staring out in front of them: the Winchester way of avoiding the subject, but it already had Sam pondering. Sam looked from one to the other studying their facial expressions until his eyes traveled and rested on the taped bandage sticking out of Dean's gown by his neck, the bandage taped over Dean's shoulder.

Instantly the memory of lying in the front seat of the Impala and the sound of gunshots reverberating in the interior along with the heavy sound of Dean's body falling to the ground flashed before him, and then it all made sense.

"You went after him, didn't you? The guy who shot Dean?" he asked softly, already knowing the answer.

Again the elder of the two Winchesters remained silent.

"He's alright, isn't he?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," his father turned a piercing eye on him.

Sam huffed out of disbelief. "Does everything have to be vengeance with you? What's next you're going to tell me, you went after the tree?"

"Yeah, I already burned it."

Sam huffed again at the sarcastic remark, "Please tell me you didn't kill him."

"He's fine Sam. And don't begin to lecture me about vengeance. You should be glad that someone had the gall to do what's right."

"So you give him a bit of your treatment? Oh Jesus," Sam bit his lip, "Why couldn't you just sue him like anybody else would?"

On the other side of John, Dean sighed closing his eyes, mumbling softly to himself, "Here we go again."

"Because that wouldn't have done anything, and you know it. Someone had to teach him a lesson and I did," John told him brusquely, "You know for a Winchester, I sure don't get why you're not on the bandwagon here. He nearly killed your brother and you want to stick up for him?"

"No, that's not…"

"Oh I know what you're thinking," John interrupted, "Always wanting to be normal. The normal way would've been to have dealt with it legally, not the barbaric Winchester way…nooo. Well, guess what? We're not normal, and we don't handle things the way normal people ought. The guy had it coming, that's all I have to say. Now shut it and stay out of matters that are not your own."

He ended with finality in his tone that had Sam not daring to argue back. Sam shook his head solemnly and he turned over on his side facing away from his family.

Dean rolled his eyes having about enough of the family feud. "Guys, can we get past this please. I'm sorry I brought it up, but this is not the time or place to discuss it. So let's move on."

John nodded his head in agreement, "You're right."

"Okay then. Now that you're getting better Sammy, maybe we can do that thing you wanted to do before Dad left. Apparently it was important to you, so why not?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. It's over," Sam replied hoarsely.

"Well sorry to hear that," John spat back.

"Dad, knock it off," Dean scolded.

"Knock. Knock," someone said knocking on the main door. All three Winchesters turned to see the nurse Melissa enter with a group of people, two parents and a teenager, the elder two didn't recognize.

A smile lit up on Sam's face. "Chris, hey man."

The teenager, a boy about Sam's age with short-cropped brown hair, a suave muscular build, and chiseled jaw, ambled over to his friend's bed.

"Hey man, long time no see," he slapped Sam's hand amiably.

Sam snorted, "No kidding."

His friend's chocolate brown eyes did an once-over at the tubes and machines. He whistled, "Dang dude. You look like crap."

"Why thank you. I'll forever cherish your compliment," Sam rasped, smirking a bit, "But it's a lot better now than it was a few days ago."

"Really?"

"Yep," he responded, "But wait a minute, how did you find out?"

"My uncle's a cop. And I overheard him telling my parents about an accident and two teenagers involved. And since you haven't been at school for over an entire week now, I figured I'd check it out…and voila, it was you!"

Sam smiled. "Man, I'm glad to see you. Perfect timing," he sent a glare over to his father, "It's been nuts just having my dad and brother as company."

"Ahh, it can't be all that bad. Cuz I mean dude, have you checked out the nurses in this place?" he whistled, "If you get all day service, sign me up and break my leg!"

"Yeah you do that. Though more than likely, knowing you, you'll end up with Kathy Bates playing nurse while you're tied to a bed."

Chris retaliated by lightly smacking his shoulder, "Jerk off."

Sam chuckled.

"So a tree, huh?"

"Yeah. Damn thing leveled our house," he coughed.

"With you and your brother in it?" his friend asked causing Sam to stare at him dumbstruck.

"Yes, we were in it. But I look good for a pancake, now don't I ?" he retorted sarcastically.

"I'm just saying," Chris raised his hands up.

"No Sherlock, we weren't…or at least I don't think so. I was knocked out for a good bit of it. But I'm cool now, I think," he coughed several harsh hacks into his hand.

Chris snorted patting his back. "Yeah, I can see that."

Chris's parents stood off to the side watching their child converse with his friend, all the while avoiding the scrutinized glare from the father. The nurse Melissa had left after bringing the folks in, but she came back in shortly after carrying a few extra supplies.

"Okay Dean, I need to redress your side. So that way you won't get an infection," she said sweetly.

"Oh great," he grumbled shifting a little more on his left side.

Melissa ignored his grumpiness lifting up the side of his gown and gently began to peel the tape off. She looked up at John, "After these folks leave, we're gonna start Sam on a new pain medicine regimen."

"Alright."

"So how was the picnic Lynn?" Melissa asked the older woman, "When was it? The Friday before last?"

"Yes it was and oh it was marvelous. It was such a nice day, too," the woman exclaimed running a hand through her short tawny hair.

"Really? I wish I had gone, but as you know, I had the day shift. My niece goes to the high school, you know."

"Oh really. Did her parents go?"

"Yep, all the kids were supposed to invite their parents," Melissa continued spreading the ointment on the healing injury. Dean jerked at the coolness of it listening intently. "It was a big thing for a while..."

"I know, and it was splendid. The family and I had a great time. We even took little Stu, but Chris mainly just played with him."

"Aw, that kid sure is growing up fast."

Dean had tuned out the conversation at that point. He did a little mental math and realized the Friday before last was the day the accident happened. Bringing his eyes up to those of his father, he read clearly what was written on the man's face, both coming to the realization of why Sam was so upset that day. That day was supposed to be a family day. That was the grand thing Sam wanted to do, had been looking forward to. He wanted them to go and be a family for once, to spend quality time together; and they had missed it, leaving Sam alone. For the first time both men understood quite plainly, they had screwed the pooch royally this time.

**That's the end for chapter nine. Yeah John is a bit crazy…or he is with me, and of course his grand bitchy side has once again taken the floor. But at least now they both know what was going on with Sam that infamous day. Don't worry, the angst doesn't end there, I'm afraid. I've got more coming up and you may be a little surprised at where the story goes from now on. It's a mystery until the next chapter. Catch ya later! ;p**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hiya! First off, Holy Machachos man, THANK YOU!!!! Over one-hundred reviews! *fangirl squeal* Needless to say I'm happier than a beaver with a chainsaw! You guys are awesome!!! 'cha-cha-cha'**

**Anywho…**

**Okay now there is a major twist in this chapter, but it's setting up for the rest of the story. You all might be saying 'huh?' or 'what?" after this chapter as Sam's acting weird, Dean's gone all grief counselor, and John is back to being his regular self. I know, not what you wanted to hear. But here goes…**

Dean was in a blissful sleep one morning when he was awoken by the petulant sounds of something resembling a person swatting for flies. He opened one of his eyes a smidge concentrating if he had heard correctly and someone was having a ball-game with a fly-swatter. Turning his head, his vision caught a dark shadow standing in the middle of their room. Once the fuzzy outlines cleared, he gasped at seeing his brother standing awkwardly at a tilt clapping at thin air.

"Sam?" he called out confused.

His little brother didn't answer but continued to swap around him, occasionally smack his ears or neck. He had a dazed look about him as if he were completely oblivious to his surroundings and was mentally enshrouded in his own little world.

"Sam?" Dean called again, now pushing himself up in bed, "What are you doing?"

Sam limped over to another spot on the floor in front of his bed, ducking his head up and down, as if searching for something and smacking his hands together.

"Sam?"

Dean's call finally registered and Sam perked up, appearing interested. "Yeah?"

Dean brushed the sleep out of his eyes, letting out a long yawn. "What are you doing?"

"There's this nat. It keeps buzzing in my ear and I can't find it," the boy answered.

Something didn't sound right. Sam's voice sounded off, drugged in a way. Dean finally pushed past the encumbrance of sleep and widened his eyes. He looked at his brother and noticed he was out of bed and standing.

"Sam, you need to get back in bed. You're still injured."

Sam chose to ignore him and spun around still smacking together his two hands. "Gotta find it. Gotta the find the nat first," the teenager muttered to himself searching. Interested, Dean looked up and around, listening intently for the tiniest sound of buzzing. So far he could come up with nothing.

Suddenly Sam spun around again donning a big goofy grin. "Hey Dean, how do you feel about interpretive dance?" he asked lightly striking a pose in the form of ballerina, with his hands forming an 'O' over his head and curling his un-injured leg backwards, which was slightly disturbing.

Dean didn't know if he should feel concerned or laugh. "Very amusing Sam, but why don't you get back into bed now? You're really starting to—"

He trailed off when he saw that Sam's ankle was at an angle, clearly painful, but the boy showed no sense of acknowledgment—in fact, he didn't show any sense at all.

"Sam your foot?"

Sam made a confused/disgusted face, "What do you mean my frog?"

"Huh? No, I didn't say frog. I said foot. You shouldn't be standing on your foot," Dean enunciated.

Sam peered down at his leg, noticing the purple swelling and redness. He glanced back up, "Footsie red."

Okay, now Dean was staring to get a little worried. "Sam. Bed. Now," he demanded.

"WHAT! I'm not a ballerina," the teenager exclaimed angrily pointing a finger at him.

Dean bucked back in shock and confusion, "I never said—"

"I'm no ballerina, you got me? I never wanted to be one. I'm a boy, remember?"

Now completely freaked out, Dean unfurled his blankets and stood up, jerking at the frigidness of the tiled floor. He began to limp over to his brother who now began to hum loudly and rolling his head around in a circle. "Sam, come here. You're really scaring me now."

The closer Dean approached his brother, the more he noticed the glazed-over eyes and the large dilation of his pupils. Then it dawned on him. His brother was seriously drugged up. He grasped his shoulders. "Sam. Stop. Sam?"

Sam continued to hum shifting out of his grip. "No Dean, I don't want to play. I want…"

Dean grabbed a hold of his shoulders one more time and shook him roughly. "Knock it off. Knock it off now, you hear me?" he barked.

Sam suddenly froze, gazing at him with intense trepidation. "Sorry…sorry," he muttered, "I'm sorry for everything. I'll be a better son. I will, I promise…Don't leave me. I'm sorry…" he looked away mumbling something incoherent.

"Sammy!" Dean shook him again, fearing for Sam's sanity. "Snap out of it. You're not a bad son. You're not. Look at me. Look at me!"

Sam's traveling eyes finally rested on his. "You're…what's wrong with you?"

"Don't hate me. Please don't hate me," Sam sniffled, embracing his big brother fiercely.

Still freaked out, Dean had no idea of what to do or of what to think. He wrapped his arms around him, muttering, "I'm not going to hate you, ever. I mean, yeah, you can be a pain in the ass from time to time, but I'll never truly hate you, you know that."

"Dad's mad at me again," Sam said, his voice sounding so heart-broken.

Dean had to roll his eyes, "When is he not mad at you, huh? But he'll get over it. He always does."

"No. No he won't," his voice broke, "He'll keep arguing with me. Never will listen to me. I don't want to argue again. I'm tired of arguing. Please say he'll stop…Please I don't want him to be mad anymore."

Dean didn't know what to say. He looked away, "Sam…I…I don't know. That's something you need to work out with—"

"No Dean. Not you. Don't be mad…"

Dean huffed, "Sam, I don't know what to tell you but as I can see you're not acting right, I'm going to go get some help, okay?"

"No! No," Sam nearly shrieked, tightening his grip around his torso, causing Dean to hiss at the flare in his side, "Please don't go."

Dean shuddered at the pain, "Sam, please let go. You're…Sam, you really gotta snap out of it."

"I'm tired," Sam slurred suddenly before unexpectantly falling limp in his arms. Dean felt the pull and he hunkered down, catching most of Sam's weight. Concerned, he called out his brother's name, "Sam? Sam?"

He took one last look at him and saw the kid was asleep. Sighing, he straightened up, "Oh great. Hey, I need some help in here!"

* * *

"I don't get it Doc. He really went loopy; kept changing my words around thinking I told him something else. I kept telling him to stop, but it seemed like he didn't understand a word I was saying," Dean explained.

Allie, the nurse Melissa, and John all stood in a circle at the foot of Sam's bed, deep in thought at what Dean had relayed to them about Sam's behavior. Allie nodded, biting her thumb, pondering the situation, "It sounds like he took a reaction to the new pain medication," she turned to Melissa, "We started him on it a few days ago, correct?"

"Yes," Melissa nodded, "Every three to six hours as prescribed."

"What pain medication?" John asked.

"Dilaudid. It's a hydromorphone, a pain-reliever that somewhat acts like an opiate. It works on some areas of the brain to reduce pain," Allie answered before turning away.

"Hmmm, I wonder why it took this long for an adverse reaction," Allie questioned, more to herself.

"I don't know, but it was weird," Dean piped up; stealing a glance at his sibling, so deep in sleep, a bomb could've gone off and he wouldn't stir.

"Well, everybody reacts differently to medications. In this case, there was a one in 2500 stat that somebody experienced a psychological episode," the doctor informed, still deep in thought.

"Yeah, well, I guess this is the one," Dean quipped.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Okay, so far as to what we'll do, we'll take him off it gradually. I don't want to chance another episode if we were to immediately take him off. We'll monitor him for any other side effects. Hopefully this won't happen again."

The elder Winchesters nodded in understanding watching the doc and nurse take their leave. Dean then took the privacy as the opportunity to talk to his father.

"Dad, you need to have a seat."

"Why?"

"Because what I'm about to tell you, you're not going to like, now please sit," Dean calmly directed.

Sighing, John did as told eyeing his oldest with interest.

"Dad, I think it's time you laid off Sammy for a bit."

John gave him a critical glare, "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

"I'm not telling you what to do. I am calmly suggesting that you need to think about what you say to Sammy from now on. When he was going nuts, he kept thinking you were constantly mad at him, and he's tired of it. No, more like afraid of it," Dean told him fiercely.

John turned away, not really wanting to hear anymore.

But Dean wasn't done. "Dad, he wants us to be a family. He wants to be able to talk to you again without having to bust out the boxing gloves."

"Yeah, well, if he would stop backtalking once an awhile, maybe…"

"Well maybe if you stopped brushing him to the side like yesterday's leftovers, then maybe he will?" Dean cut him to it silencing the ex-marine.

Dean took another deep breath before continuing. "Dad, that day before you left, he was trying to tell you something. And you heard those people. We missed out on Sammy's big day, and yeah I can see why he's so upset. So just for once try to make it up to him. I mean come on Dad; you know how stubborn Sammy is. He's just like you."

"I know," John raised his hands up in mock-surrender, "But what do you want me to do, huh? Let him run the show?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. But Dad you can't deny that anytime he speaks, you do have a nasty habit of beating him down, making sure you have the last word in."

"That's how it's supposed to go Dean."

"I understand that," Dean rolled his eyes, "That's just how we roll. But for right now, just back off for a bit. Give him some room to explain himself and if need be let him vent. The kid can only hold his teenage angsty, repressed turmoil emotions in for so long."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that if he won't speak to me now. Hell he hasn't even uttered a single syllable since his friends came by."

"Okay then let me talk to him and find out what going on in that freaky head of his. Let me try to see if I can get him to open him up. Agreed?"

John sighed reluctantly. This would be so much easier if Sam had only obeyed and wouldn't brood and sulk so much after every order. But this was his Sam after all. Maybe if he did listen for once instead of giving out orders, things could be different. Besides, he really did want to make up, even if he had a different way of showing it. "Agreed."

* * *

Hours later, Dean could hear the rustling of sheets and the sound of soft moans, alerting him that 'Sleeping Beauty' was waking up. He sat up straighter in his bed looking at his brother who was stretching out his arms, and wiggling the loss of circulation out of his fingers.

"Hey, hey Sammy. Bout time you woke up princess. You feeling better…you know, sane?" Dean asked happily.

"Oh shut up," Sam groused through a yawn, scrunching up his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose. "And yes I am. No thanks to the stuff they got me on. I swear to God I think I'm seeing colors."

"Yeah, the doc said you had a nasty reaction, but no worries. Doc also says you'll be back to your old primadonna teenage moody self in no time once they get it out of your system. I'm kinda sad really, cuz you were highly entertaining," Dean teased.

"Jerk," Sam groaned messaging his temples causing Dean to chuckle.

After Dean finished laughing and allowing Sam to wake up fully, he decided to get serious. "Hey Sam, we gotta talk."

"Oh God, what did I say or do to him now?"

Dean shrugged at that question, believing that the time to discuss the matter was now or never, "Well, it's more of what you said to me…about him…but whatever."

"Okay?" Sam queried, wondering how bad the start of this conversation was going to be.

Dean took a deep breath, "Sam, it's been a while since you talked to him."

"So?"

"So…I think it's time you opened up. I can see that tensions are rising between you and Dad…again, and I just want to you to talk to me."

"Why?"

"Because you always would open up to me; could tell me anything. Heck, sometimes I had a hard enough time trying to get you to shut up."

Sam rolled his eyes, not wanting to participate in this 'heart-to-heart' session, because he knew exactly who would hear about it later. "It doesn't matter anymore Dean. Just leave it alone."

Time to take a stab, Dean thought. "Sam, Dad and I know about the picnic."

Sam turned his head.

Dean saw the look of surprise and went on, "Kinda overheard your friend's folks yesterday and we put two and two together. Is that why you wanted to grill our asses that day? Because you wanted us to go?"

"That's part of it," his little brother murmured.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I tried," Sam snapped, "But he wouldn't have any of it."

"Shhh, you don't have to raise your voice. It's okay," Dean replied softly, "Why didn't you tell me? I could've gone with ya."

Sam let out a distraught breath, appearing sullen. "Yeah, sorry for that. After Dad left, I guess I was just too angry to ask."

On down the hallway, John could hear the faint sounds of voices. He realized that Sam must've woken up and Dean began his little counseling session. Keeping his footsteps light, he crept towards the door, hanging on the outside, listening in on the conversation.

"That's okay," Dean nodded in understanding, "You know he's trying, right? Just Dad has this stubborn thing about him, kinda like Ozzy in Black Sabbath."

Sam peaked an eyebrow.

"Well, you know, the stubborn side anyway," Dean flinched from his not-so-good analogy, "My point is, he's trying…"

"Yeah he's trying alright. Trying my friggin' sanity," the teenager rebuked causing his older brother to roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Besides that. All I'm trying to say if you'll let me," he glared, "is to give him a chance. Please Sam for me. He's trying to make up and he feels guilty as Hell."

"He should feel guilty. If he had just listened to me, thought of us for once, then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"You don't know that. We don't know what would've happened if he was there. The tree still would've come down. And yeah he could've been there to help, but who knows something might have happened to him as well."

"No Dean, you don't get it. I'm not talking about this time. He's never there and he never cares. What about that time at Christmas when you nearly got arrested because you stole some rations from a local shelter because we had no food left…or when he took you on that poltergeist hunt in Arkansas and that friggin' thing sent a rake through the side of your leg? You could've been killed, but he brushed it off like it was just some flesh wound."

"It was a flesh wound Sam."

"That's not my point. Dean, all I'm trying to say is, I'm afraid if I forgive him…things will go back to the way they were and something like this will happen again. I don't want things to go back to the way they were."

Dean became speechless. He had no words. Truth was Sam was right. Their dad hardly was there. It was always the two brothers looking out for each other. "I don't know what to tell ya Sammy."

"You don't have to say anything Dean. You have as much of a right to be angry as anybody too. And yeah I'm still a little sore about the whole picnic thing. It just goes to prove that I'm right, he's never around us and we're not really a family."

A spark of fiery rage struck up in John as he listened. He had heard enough, and damn it to Hell and back if his son's are going to call his faults on him. Yeah, he was a lousy father sometimes; he would admit that any day. But Sam's words hurt him deep and now it was time to put the brat in line.

He entered the room, discontent with the most dangerous scowl on his face, eying Sam with pure hatred, "So that's it, huh? You're angry with me because I missed your picnic. You won't talk to me because I missed one of your school's functions, because I'm not the proud father of the year you wanted."

Both of his children's faces were filled with fear and dread watching the myriad of emotions of anger, betrayal, desperation, and loathe interchange on his facial features.

He snarled, "Well sorry to be the chap in your ass kiddo, but we don't always get what we want. And this little guilt fest you're trying to pull ain't gonna cut it. Stop being a little kid. You need to suck it up. I'm sorry for not being there. I can't be there most of the time and you know why."

Sam overcame his shock of being eavesdropped on. He half-shouted back, "Yeah, because other people are more important than us."

Furious, John's upper lip curled, "Don't give me that crap. I'm doing this for you, to keep you and your brother safe, that's what's important. How many times do I have to say so? But then again this is you we're talking about; I have to explain myself every time, don't I? You know what I'm tired of this. Maybe I should've just left your sorry pathetic ass somewhere, that way I wouldn't have to hear your whining or complaining anymore."

Dean's jaw dropped at that statement, completely taken by surprise at his father's words thrown on his little brother.

John went on, "And if you can't seem to understand anything that I do for you, well then I feel sorry for you. So grow up. Give your and brother and me a break and take it like a man." He stormed out of the room.

Dean's jaw never left the floor. He turned his shocked gaze over to that of his distraught brother, who had gone real quiet—too quiet, "Sammy, I…"

"Shut up Dean. Just shut up," Sam told him, his voice breaking. The palms of his hands scrunched up on his blankets trembling violently.

"He-"

"No…Don't worry about it. Just…Just leave me alone," Sam said, his voice quiet and heart-broken. He turned over on his side away from Dean, not wanting his big brother to see the tears threatening to burst.

Dean still couldn't get over his shock, "I'm sorry Sam. I'm sorry."

* * *

It was dreadfully quiet in the room hours later. Nighttime was beginning to fall casting the room in a dim light and the lights from the machines and over-lights were the only source of light penetrating the gloom.

Dean rubbed at his eyes after another short nap, stretching laggardly in his bed, and stifling a yawn. He cast another worried glance at the curtain that now encircled around Sam's bed, and his heart panged. He still couldn't believe what his father had said to Sam. He could understand his father's frustration and rashness, because what Sam had said was pretty hurtful as well. But to go over-the-top like that and indirectly say he couldn't stand his presence anymore was like a knife to the gut.

Sam hadn't spoken in hours and he fully understood the reasons behind that. When Sam was upset, he'd become quiet, incredibly quiet, so much you wonder if he was sitting some feet away. Sometime in the afternoon, Sam had the nurse to close the curtain around his bed, that way he probably would let slip his emotions without anyone having to see him. Dean couldn't blame him. If his father had said those harsh words to him, he'd probably crawl back into his shell as well. John hadn't returned after the blow-out and who knows where he had journeyed off to.

Damn it Dad. Now I have to do damage control, and I have no idea of where to start.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting. In a way, Dean was kind of relieved they would be discharged, with the orders of continual rest and no strenuous activity. But the interaction between his brother and his father after this point was going to be interesting indeed, if there were ever going to be an interaction after this. Maybe it was time to get the boxing gloves out and settle this the old fashioned way.

A few minutes later, a small beeping sounded. Dean recognized that as the alarm on Sam's sport watch. The timer was set a certain time every night and it would annoy Dean to no end when it would go off because he had to wait for Sam because the kid was the only one who had a single clue as to how to shut the damn thing off.

"Sam, I know you're probably wanting to piss me off, and that's okay. But please turn that thing off," Dean asked calmly.

There was no answer and the beeping continued.

After a few minutes, Dean thought he could handle it, give Sam some more space and let him turn it off on his own time, but the damn beeping was driving him nuts. "Seriously dude, I'm trying to be nice here. Knock off this bitter princess routine and turn off the damn watch."

Again there was no answer. Severely annoyed, he gritted his teeth slowly climbing off his bed, about ready to open up a can of whoopass on a pouting little brother. "Sammy, I'm not kidding. Turn the damn thing off—" He opened the curtain and froze when he saw the bed was empty. Sam's hospital gown was left in a heap at the end of the bed.

"Oh no." Damn it. Dad

Sam was gone.

**There ya go. Told ya there was a twist. Hope you enjoyed it. Okay, hopefully I will post the next chappie up this weekend. But as it's my birthday Saturday, I'll do what I can. **

**Note: I probably mentioned this before, so I'm going to mention it again. I don't know much medical knowledge, just whatever that sounds reasonable off the web. I don't know if the statistic is right, I just made that up. Couldn't find it on the web. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Holy Crapolas, it has been awhile. Too long in fact. You guys more than likely hate me right now and I don't blame ya. I'd be hating me too! I can't tell ya how sorry I am. But this past month has literally been Hell on earth for me with work and home, and not to mention family. So in that case, I hope this chappie will make up for it. Enjoy! **

Shadows flitted unevenly amongst the trees as Sam walked—well, actually limped— along the long stretch of the blackened road. A strong prevailing wind blew through forcing the limbs and leave boughs to bounce up and down like raving brainless cheerleaders at a football game. The shadows danced eerily transforming into surreal creatures courtesy of the intervals of moonlight shining down. Either that or it was the drugs still residing in his system that made them seem like a creepy shadow-puppet show. Loud 'whoops' and 'eeks' from many nocturnal animals echoed from every direction it seemed from within the vast forestry.

There was little light to aid in his flight away from the hospital, but that was just an extra milestone he would have to get accustomed to. His pupils were dilated to their fullest extent, but the darkness was so thick, it was still rather difficult to see a good five feet in front of him. However, the feel of the smooth tarmac beneath his soles confirmed he was still traveling along the road.

Traveling along the main highway, he passed the many cow pastures and farmland and now was in the countryside surrounded by heavy timberland. Since he accidentally forgot his watch, he had not the faintest idea what time it was. Only that he started this journey during the daylight hours and now it was nighttime. He had no idea how far he journeyed, but he knew it had to be far.

He looked around, searching, listening, and keeping his mind focused and on high alert as trained. Though the several dizzy bouts and sudden painful aches in his side and chest that would occur—which seemed like every five minutes— made his trek much more taxing.

Another loud 'whoop' sounded close to home—too close in fact— causing him to jump and pace faster. His teeth were clenched so tightly from the searing pain constantly shooting upward from his ankle it was a wonder why they hadn't shattered. Ha, must be that Colgate! Ugh, it was times like these that he wished he had grabbed a pair of crutches on the way out…but no that wouldn't have been in the least bit conspicuous! Besides, they would have slowed him down.

As time progressed and Sam knew he had gone a good ways, he paused taking a breather, sitting down on the side of the ditch-line, mainly to get off his throbbing ankle. Cringing from the pain, he slowly began to message the sides of the bandage through his grungy socks. His tennis shoe was loose around his foot, but it still felt tight. The heat emanating from it was hot enough he could use it as a hand-warmer.

Foggy drafts of air plumed around his mouth and it was then that he realized it was real chilly outside. Shivers wracked through his body, his tattered t-shirt from the night of the accident hardly able to provide warmth.

The longer he sat caring for his injury, Sam really began to wonder if this was such a great idea. It certainly was not one of his usually thought-out plans… definitely a half-ass desperate attempt to get as far away from his family as possible.

He always had the plot about running away one day in the back of his mind; always had ideas about how he would go about doing it. Whenever times were really rough between him and his dad, the more elaborate those plans became, more realistic…but somehow he didn't have the heart to carry them out. For some odd reason, he couldn't leave Dean alone. But now even the thought of Dean's loneliness didn't quell his fury and frustration. As far as he was concerned this was inevitable. So he decided to carry on about doing this courageous act.

But was this a courageous act? Or was it an impulsive reaction, an attention getter, intent on forcing the only family he had left to meddle in guilt over their loss? He didn't know. But then how do you define the line between selfishness and independence? Was there ever a fine line between them or was it always meant to be vague? Would he ever be able to consider himself independent, or would he always consider himself to be a self-centered brat?

Man, no wonder he's going insane; all these questions and no 'number eight ball' to answer them.

The chilly air got caught in his windpipe, causing him to jerk, forcing back the raw emotion enveloping in his mouth.

Truth was he was surprised with himself that he left. He hadn't intended to carry the task out so soon, but then if it wasn't now, then it would be never. And what else equally surprised him was how easily he slipped through the hospital unnoticed. Though he can say he did so with stealth: sneaking into corners when someone approached his general direction, slouching under the main nurse's station, or waiting for the receptionist by the lobby to leave for a coffee break. Not even a napping Dean, who usually slept light, picked up on his quiet footsteps. A deep sense of pride swelled within him. That's right; don't underestimate the badass baby brother! Maybe his father's training had paid off.

The half smile on his face faltered at that thought.

It was because of his father's tight regime and attitude that had him make this bold action. He couldn't handle it anymore. If he were ever to keep his own individuality, his own independence…his own sanity, then John's way had to go. That's the main reason behind him leaving he told himself. Maybe this will open the man's eyes.

But with no money, no belongings or anything remotely helpful to get him to the next town but his own two feet. And in the middle of nowhere in the middle of night on the brink of a forest that had it's own unique set of teeth that would no doubt love to gobble him whole. Yeah, this plan really wasn't well thought out. But he couldn't—wouldn't go back. Especially since the scolding and non-caring words his so-called loving father spoke; those words hurt deeper than any other physical pain he ever could recall. It was clear as to what his dad really thought about him. But that's okay; he's out of his hair now!

Sam looked around. The wind still raged, the horny creatures continued to call, and the road still looked like an endless tunnel. Staring down the long way, a disturbing thought popped into his head. _Where was he going to go?_

Ooh, he hadn't thought of that. If he were to at least manage getting to the next town wherever that may be, how would he be able to afford anything? Due to his appearance alone, he doubted someone would hire him, or even take pity on him. Heck, it was highly unlikely a church would take him in.

Ah, that was it. He'd just take refuge in a charity house or an orphanage. So far he felt like an orphan in his father's eyes, he'd fit right in. And it wouldn't be for long, just so until he got back on his feet…literally. And that was another problem, wasn't it? His broken ankle seared angrily and he wondered if he was gonna be able to stand up, let alone travel some God-knows how long distance to the next destination.

His queries were soon answered when the sputtering sound of an engine sounded behind him. He stood in time before a pair of lights roved around a corner. Soon the contours of a rusty truck came into view slowly coming to a halt beside him. Sam paused hesitantly before opening the door that screeched and whined so loud it had half the forest hooting and howling. The driver—an old man wearing the classic Farmer Fran apparel with short grizzled hair, dark bushy eyebrows, and a crinkled face—stared at him inquisitively.

"Whatcha ya doing out here so late, youngin'? Need a ride?" he asked politely in a scratchy voice that clearly indicated he smoked too much during his lifetime. The man's grey eyes widened to get a better look at the teenager.

Sam's instincts were a tad slow, but he didn't sense danger. Immediately he hopped in, ignoring the whole 'don't hop in cars with strangers' rule of thumb. "Yes sir, just drive."

-

A small orange light beamed and blinked at the service desk. Melissa caught sight of it and immediately groaned bowing her head on the tabletop and banged it twice. The blonde stumpy nurse sitting adjacent stared curiously.

"You okay?"

"Ugh," Melissa groaned again, "It's 532 again. I swear that kid is gonna drive me to drinking." She stood up.

"You want me to get it this time?" the nurse offered.

Melissa shook her head. "No I got it. But it better not be him dickin' around again or I so have had it."

The friend giggled shortly as she walked away murmuring to herself. When she reached the room, she froze catching Dean out of bed with his filthy sweatpants half on and off.

He looked up appearing irate. "About damn time! How long does it take to walk five-hundred feet?"

"Dean, what're you—"

"Don't start your belly aching just yet," Dean interrupted rudely, "Sam's gone."

The nurse raised her eyebrow as if she didn't hear correctly. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Sam. Is. Gone," Dean reiterated, "He's gone. We gotta get him back. Now please help me." He motioned to the bad leg stuck awkwardly at an angle in the pant's leg.

Stunned, Melissa ran from the room.

-

Allie had just locked her office door ready to go home for the night when the officer Rich stomped up to her, his cheeks rosy red and his eyes bulging to twice their size. In short, it made him look like a twisted chipmunk, but it was evident in his posture he was pissed about something.

"Hey Rich. What's got you in a tizzy?" she asked teasingly.

"I have a bone to pick with these Winchesters," he answered brashly.

"About what?"

"A lot of things. After they're discharged tomorrow, I want to see them in custody."

"For what!" Allie nearly shrieked.

The officer folded his arms. "First off, the older boy still has to suffer the consequences for driving insanely through town. Secondly, he's still in trouble when he refused to pull over and caused a high speed pursuit," he blustered, looking away. "I…I want to see some punishment. And…"

"Rich," Allie called out loud interrupting the man's tirade. Her temper over the injustice of what the man standing in front of her was trying to pull began to rise rapidly, "Can you hear yourself? That incident happened weeks ago! And if I remember correctly you personally saw to it that it was wrapped up."

"But still…"

"But still nothing," she said reproachfully, "I don't see where this is coming from. Those boys were terribly injured on the way here. And it's a good thing that boy didn't stop, because if he hadn't gotten here in the time that he did, his brother wouldn't have made it."

"Allie, he still put many people at risk for his reckless driving…"

"Tell me something Rich. If Janet or Caitlin or even Noah were in the same situation where they could have bled out at any moment, would you have pulled over?"

The officer sighed, caught off guard by her question. He paused for a moment thinking about it. "Probably not."

"Okay then. I'm asking you as a friend, cut these boys some slack and remove the charges. They don't need to worry about that right now."

Rich eyed her critically, "My question is why are you trying to protect them?"

An angry frown appeared on Allie's face, totally affronted, and she went into the defensive, "And my question to you is why do you want to put them behind bars so bad?"

Startled by the woman's tone, Rich sighed. "Jenkins came back… And he's different."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, but...I don't know. Something's not right..."

"And you think this family had something to do with it?"

"I know they did," he nearly shouted, "They had to've. Jenkins is not the same anymore. He's…he's…better. He doesn't shake while he's holding a gun now. He talks to you straight in the eye, no bullshit. And when he does his job, he can't do it without perfection. He's improved greatly, but it's odd. He won't open up as to how he has gotten so good."

Allie gave him a disbelieving look. "So that's the reason? Jenkins comes back as a better cop, a better man and you want to see this family locked up?"

Rich looked away.

"Forgive me if I don't understand that," Allie snapped, her temper rising once again, "Because the way I see it, it sounds like he's the one who improved greatly and you weren't the man behind it all? And the only way for you to feel better about that is to see these people knocked down a peg. That wouldn't be a jealousy issue here, right?"

The man didn't respond as now he looked uncomfortable as if he stumbled upon a cave of sleeping bears.

"That's what I thought," she glared. "Drop the charges. This family's been through enough," Allie told the officer firmly.

"Fine," the officer agreed reluctantly, "But tell me something Allie, and you tell me the truth."

The doctor stared at him as if she were offended.

Rich tightened his grip on his crossed arms, "The night Jenkins disappeared. Was John Winchester here at the hospital?"

Allie had to admit the question took her by surprise. She looked away trying to remember that particular night. Instantly it came to her as that evening is when the youngest Winchester woke up from a near death, and the older boy had informed her of John's departure. She bit the inside of her lip realizing that possibly during that particular absence was the around the time Jenkins mysteriously disappeared.

Rich stood straighter, tapping his fingers impatiently on his arm, obviously still waiting on her reply.

Allie smirked. She surely was not one to be intimidated into giving an answer. Besides the way she saw it, if John was in some way, shape, or form behind the officer's disappearance, Jenkins had it coming. "Yes he was here. I know personally because I was in charge of removing the elder son's stitches during that time and some of my other staff members can attest to him being here all night."

Rich eyed her disbelievingly, "You sure?"

"Absolutely positive," she lied, unable to stop smiling at her deceit.

"Fine," the officer huffed, "I guess there's nothing else for me to do, but go home."

"You do that," Allie replied smugly spinning around.

The sound of heavy breathing and pounding footsteps was heard coming down the corridor. Allie looked up to see Melissa running fast towards them.

"Melissa? What's wrong?"

The nurse slid up to them, out of breath. "The bro…ther… is… missing."

"What are you talking about?"

Melissa gulped, "The younger… brother is… gone. He's not in the room."

Allie and the officer exchanged glances and then immediately hauled ass to the fifth floor.

-

Dean was still struggling with his pants leg when Allie and Rich burst through the door. "Oh thank God, the cavalry's here," Dean said sarcastically.

"Dean what's going on?" Allie asked softly.

"My brother is gone. He left. He's not here," he sat on the bedspread, tired over fiddling with his pants.

Allie looked over at the other bed and saw it was empty. She turned to Rich and Melissa.

"Melissa, get on the security cameras and alert the staff. He might be around the first couple of floors."

"I doubt it," Dean spoke up. "Knowing Sammy, he's not even in this hospital."

The three all turned their attention to the boy.

"Trust me he's probably not. With the way he's feeling right now, he's not here. Now somebody help me."

Allie stared in half confusion and shock, "Dean, where else would he go?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know. I don't know this town real well and neither does he. And after the shit that went down with him and my dad, yeah, he's lookin' to get out."

"When could this have happened? How could anybody not have seen him?" Allie asked desperately.

Dean shrugged. "That's because he's a sneaky little bastard. If he doesn't want to be seen, he'll disappear. And who knows, he could've left hours ago, which means he's got a pretty damn good start. Meaning stop standing around like a bunch of dumbasses and get moving pronto."

Rich stepped forward. "I can call ahead. Get a couple deputies to the bus station…"

"Sorry chief, that ain't gonna do us any good," Dean interrupted.

When all three of them looked at him interested, he went on, "Trust me guys, I know my brother better than anybody. He's got no money for a cab or a bus. No ID to collect cash. And judging from how desperate he is; he's gonna think the best way to get out of here is by foot."

"But that's ridiculous," Allie piped up, "He still has a fractured ankle. He won't be able to get far."

"You don't know Sammy. When there's a Will, there's a way. And he knows about five of them. Besides appearing injured, and with that puppy-dog look he's got, he'll be able to catch a ride quicker than you can say 'wam bam thank you ma'me'."

Allie turned to Rich discreetly giving him the look of 'He's right. What now, dipshit?'

The head officer looked dumbstruck turning back to the kid utterly speechless.

Dean gave Rich a smug grin, "Now would be a great time to put up that road block."

-

The inside of the truck rattled greatly. Sam looked around observing whatever he could make out of the archaic structure in the dark, noting the neon green light emanating from the 'rinky dink' radio, the frayed cab seat, and the rusty glove box. A pungent smell of cigars mixed with hay festered in the compartment and it was beginning to make him nauseous. He cracked the window some allowing some fresh air to filter through.

"Where're you headin' son?" the driver asked.

Sam shook his head to clear the nauseating feeling, "Uh…Anywhere but here," he answered pitifully.

"Sorry to hear that. Anywhere in particula' you want to go?"

"Just as far away from my family," he paused swallowing the hard lump down in his throat as best he could, "as far as possible." He doubled over slightly choking on the fumes.

"Yer family?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured softly.

The old man gave him a sympathizing look. "Well I know family can be a little frustratin' at times. Especially if ya've got a bitchin' sista-n-law whose cat gets more portions than the family itself. I tell ya that thing is no cat. It's a freaken gerbil with canines and acts like it's the Lord himself. Heh, nothing but a good whiff of my rotty Steve's crap and that'll teach the bitch. Ha, let's just say I left it a present in its food bowl," he laughed. Becoming aware he got off topic, the man cleared his itchy throat and added, "But they can't be all that bad."

Sam coughed, the flare in his side forcing him to cringe. "S-say that to my dad."

"What? He's not abusing you, is he son?" he turned to the boy concerned.

"Huh?" Sam jerked in his seat. "What? No. No he's not," he bowed his head, "Sorry I didn't mean to give that impression. It's just…just please drive mister." The nausea was ever present and the dizziness returned like a full on mad dog coming to attack. He felt incredibly tired, so tired he could only catch a few words of what the driver was saying next. His eyes drooped some.

"So what are you like in bed?"

At hearing those words, Sam sat up alarmed, "What? What'd you say?"

The old man raised his eyebrows, appearing innocent. "I asked if ya needed a place to camp for the night. Ya won't find any buses or trains running afta Six. Betta off catchin' one tomorrow. My wife and I have an extra bed."

In his delirium Sam only caught the words: My place…wife… and bed. Instantly he became paranoid, immediately regretting his decision for ignoring his father's rule about riding in cars with strangers. The old man he was riding with could've been a murderer/rapist, or some trafficking sicko who kidnaps children for underground slavery, or …God, a recruiting agent for a clown show. Holy crap, did he just screw up!

"No. No. Just let me off here. I'll be fine."

It was evident the old man picked up on the panic in the teenager's voice because he raised his right hand in a placating manner. "Hey, hey, calm down boy. I'm not gonna hurt ya. Though I must say you look like you need some help. Ya look like ya just escaped from the hospital or somethin'," he said noticing the hospital ID band around Sam's wrist, "And I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own this late at night, that's all."

Sam began to tremble, mainly from fear. He eyed the door with a sense of relief, believing that jumping out may his only way out of there.

The driver glanced over and saw him shiver. He reached over towards the heater.

Sam bucked back. "No please don't," he pleaded.

"I'm just turning the heater on. Ya look a bit chilled…"

"Just gonna heat ya some bit, get ya ready," Sam interpreted. "No just let me out. Let me out," he shouted.

"What!"

"Let me out!"

"But don't you need—son it's too dark on these roads to be out there by yerself."

"No, no it's not. Please."

The old man's jaw opened and closed, uncertain of what to say or of what to do. "Uh…no."

And that answer didn't settle too well with the freaked out younger Winchester. Desperately Sam jumped up and grabbed the wheel, yanking it hard to the right.

"What are you doing?" the driver screeched, "Let go!"

The car began to weave as he tried to wrestle with the kid, pushing him away, but Sam's grip remained iron-tight.

"Boy, get off! We're gonna CRASH!"

Sam ignored the man's demand pulling on the wheel again. Soon the truck lost complete control and sailed over the side ditch, crashing into a large cedar tree.

**Uh oh there I go again! See I told ya I'm horrible, and not just for making you guys wait this long. Again I can't tell how sorry I am for that. But now things are heating up. That poor old man. He was only trying to help. And I know it might not seem plausible that the cop wanted the Winchesters locked up (which cop in the show doesn't huh?), but keep in mind he's a jerk and I needed a reason for him to be at the hospital…so I thought I outta tell ya that for good measure**.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey Guys. Ha, didn't expect me to update so soon. Neither did I! And I'm equally surprised I came out to the library today as my face has swollen up like a balloon. I had a CT scan done yesterday and believe it or not I took a nasty reaction to the contrast iodine. Go figure. You talk about an Itch fest!!! So basically I'm telling you this solely because I'm high off Benedryl right now, so if the end of this chappie doesn't make sense, that's probably why. Enjoy as you'll find Sam gets himself into more trouble…again! **

The impact really wasn't all that hard. But the force was enough to render the driver dazed and momentarily confused. He sat slumped against the wheel cringing from the pain in his chest; his seventy-six year old body was hardly able to endure. Luckily his wife had him eat all those Cheerios; otherwise it could've been a lot worse!

On the other side, Sam sat up. The momentum of the head-on collision threw his body into the dash, afterward falling into the floorboard. Coughing and sputtering, Sam shuffled across the grimy floor and slowly opened the creaky door. He took a step out and immediately tumbled to the sodden grass, gasping in pain. The agony he felt from earlier tripled from this last little stunt he performed. Searing torments filtered through his chest and he didn't want to go there about his ankle. He curled in on his side and moaned.

Inside the truck, the old man fell onto his side and feebly crawled towards the passenger end. Hearing the child cry cleared the slight disorientation and spurred him into action, only his newly acquired injuries made it difficult for him to move. "Son. Son. Are you okay?" he called out concerned, grimacing.

Sam quit his moaning at the sound of the man's voice. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, stumbling away. Panting heavily, tears fell from the strain of his escape. He continued on as fast as he could limp on through the brush and into the woods. The old man's worried shouts fading into the backdrop the farther he roamed.

-

Several loud booming knocks stirred John from his alcohol-induced slumber. Groggily, he pushed himself from the lumpy sofa chair and stepped towards the door. Peering through the peep-hole, he let out an annoyed growl seeing who it was. Opening the door swiftly, he glared at the Officer Page intensely.

"Hymph, well you have some nerve—"

"Cut the crap Mr. Winchester," Page cut him off and before the man could retaliate, he said, "One of your sons has gone missing."

Surprise settled over John at that statement, officially clearing him of all grogginess and alcohol-related side-effects. "What? Which one?" he asked though he already knew the answer.

"The younger one, Sam."

"Oh no," John said hauntingly. Immediately he reached back in grabbing his jacket and left slamming the door shut.

Travis was already at his vehicle waiting by the door when John ran out. "We already have a crew established. The security footage showed that he snuck out the janitor's door."

John froze in his tracks. "So he's nowhere in the hospital."

"No sir. We've already completed several wide searches and now we starting on the major sites in town," Travis slid into the driver's seat.

John shook his head approaching the Impala. "If he's not in the building, then he's trying to split. We need to start with the roads. How many are there coming out of the hospital?"

"Uh, there's an intersection. There are several routes in and out."

"Call in. Get a couple of your fellow compatriots on each one. Knowing Sam, he's probably back in his nasty clothes and limping. It can't be hard to track that down."

"Sure," Travis nodded.

"Okay. Let's go," John said hopping into the Impala and firing it up.

Within seconds, both vehicles were screeching out of the motel's parking lot.

-

The kind doctor paced anxiously back and forth across the small room. Dean watched with mild fascination, his head swiveling from side to side like he was watching a tennis match. It had been over an hour since everyone left to track down the missing teenager. Since then the atmosphere had grown to be silent and tense. Allie occasionally emitted a frustrated growl, tired and eager for news; plus was a little miffed that the boy disappeared at her hospital during her shift—and perhaps annoyed being the babysitter for the other Winchester who would nag at any chance he got. It was already hard enough trying to keep the boy in the bed as it was.

Dean, already dressed and ready to go, sat on his hospital bed silently grumbling to himself. He wanted desperately to get out there and help track down his brother, but was stuck with the doc keeping him under constant surveillance and his leg being a major hindrance. Plus the threat the doc gave of strapping him down and throwing the key down the pothole if he even thought of moving kept him rooted to the mattress. With the usage of words and the tone that came with it, he understood not to mess with the woman. Though it was becoming harder as the minutes ticked by and there was still no news.

After the first hour past, Dean decided it was time to take a risk and speak up again. "Doc, we still need to get a hold of my dad. He's the best tracker there is. He'll find Sammy in no time. Get someone on it. He doesn't have a phone and we need him now."

"Dean, my husband's already on it," Allie replied annoyed, "You said he was at the motel, right?"

"I said more than likely he was at the motel. And more than likely he's probably cooling off with Jim, Jack, and Jose," He corrected.

Allie pursed her lips at that comment. "Again, my husband should be on it. And I'm pissed he or anybody hasn't called yet. I mean I'm supposed to be the command base. Doesn't that get intel like every five minutes?"

"Well why don't you call?"

"I could. But then there's that reason why they hadn't called yet."

"Hmmm, gotcha."

A few minutes another frustrated growl was heard from the doctor. Allie checked her watch twice before slumping down at the edge of Dean's bed, bowing her head. "Just hang in there Dean," she offered.

"I don't think I'm the one who needs the convincing there doc."

Suddenly a strange beeping sounded. It reminded Dean more of a building warning alarm he typically heard in one of his 'assassin' video games. Allie jumped up and ran towards the muffled sound located in her worn leather purse. Reaching in, she pulled out a small Nokia cellphone and exclaimed, "Ah it's my husband."

Dean couldn't hear the caller, and he couldn't read Allie's mannerisms as her back was turned for the duration of the call.

Soon the call ended and Allie turned around with her cheeks flushed. She shook her head solemnly catching his eager expression. "Nothing as of yet."

"Damn it," Dean cursed quietly.

"But he did find your dad and is working with him. And they did say they met someone who thought he saw someone matching your brother's appearance." Allie huffed resuming her place at the edge of Dean's bed.

"What else is being done? What is everybody else doing?" Dean asked.

"Eh so far to my knowledge a squadron is set up at the entrance of town—"

"By squadron you mean one guy?" Dean interrupted.

"Maybe. But I do know there are others about to look inside some of the buildings still open at this hour."

Dean shook his head in frustration and slowly hopped off the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Allie asked sternly, eying him earnestly.

"I'm tired sitting around here and if you think I'm gonna continue to sit back and enjoy the colorless walls while my brother is out there by himself injured and high off his rocker, you got another thing coming."

He gulped at seeing the ominous glare, but he straightened back up to the best of his ability. "Look, you're just wasting your time looking around town, he won't be there. I need to get out there and start looking," he added.

"Dean, sit back down. I'm not letting you…"

"And you won't. Just tell them I hit you."

"Considering 'they' and I'm sure you mean the cops, know me so well, they won't believe that."

"Then just tell them I slipped past you."

"Nope, that's not gonna work either since Melissa and the cops are all over the security footage right now."

By this point, Dean was highly agitated. "Look lady I'm not staying here. The only way that's gonna happen is if you kill me."

"Or I could tranquilize you," she smiled mischievously.

Dean fell mute. His likeness for the woman was becoming less by the second. Knowing that she had carried out that particular threat before, he knew not to push it. But now as he was all out of other options, what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just quit. So maybe he had to try something else for a change. Possibly something much more effective and lethal.

He bowed his head down. Conjuring up some fake tears, he raised his head letting out a loud sniffle, furrowing his eyebrows and pouting his lips, giving her a patented puppy dog look of his own. The doc stared out of the corner of her eye clearly not affected.

He worked harder. His eyes strained; working on willingly displaying his emotions was much harder than he thought. Turning on a bigger frown, he said in a pitiful tone, "Please doc. I have to find my brother. I have to know if he's okay. Don't keep me here sick with worry," he sniffed.

Allie glowered as she found the kid's manipulative attempt was now starting to work. Rolling her eyes, she also found she couldn't ignore the bright rosy cheeks and glossy green eyes any longer. "Fine," she grounded her teeth.

"Really?" Dean squeaked surprised his ploy succeeded, "Wow gotta do that more often—"

Allie cleared her throat. "But here's the thing Mister. We'll both go and look only under one condition."

"Condition?"

"Hmmm hymph. Remember buddy-boy you're still not a hundred percent better and taking on something like this may do more harm than good—"

"Keep your skirt on doc. It'll be okay. Now let's hear it," Dean piped up ecstatically.

-

It was dreadfully cold outside and muddy, plus incredibly dark. Sam trudged through the damp woods clumsily, swiping at branches and spider-webs, and occasionally tripping over ascending tree roots. After the crash, he ran for as long as he could, before stopping in a dead faint, doubling over. Once the burning in his lungs dissipated, he continued on for what seemed like hours, but may have been only an hour. Tears continued to make their way down his cheeks in little rivers, and the pain never abated. But at least it kept him aware and focused. He never would admit it to anyone else, but the woods at night was a scary place.

Walking on, his good foot came down and immediately sunk into sludge. Grimacing in disgust, he struggled to pull it out. Gritting his teeth, he placed his hands under his foot and pulled with all his might. The foot came out making a loud sucking sound and he fell over onto his rump. Annoyed that possibly he may have broken his ass-bone, he shuffled backwards toward a tree's truck and sat against it.

Another strong breeze blew through and Sam looked behind the tree. He gulped when his widened eyes saw nothing but a dark abyss, no doubt a small gulley down below. In a way, he was glad his foot became stuck, because if he had kept going, there was a definite possibility he'd have fallen into it. He scooted a few inches away from the edge.

Familiar tremors began to wrack through his body forcing his teeth to chatter from which he conceded must be from shock by the crash. Numbly he wrapped his arms around his quivering frame, burrowing his head into his knees trying to maintain some source of heat. The tears were an ever persistent pump that refused to turn off. Feebly wiping them away with his sticky hand wouldn't do the trick as they kept coming. So in that case, he continued to cry.

An unrelenting sense of uncertainty overwhelmed him. And a certain show of emotions began to take stage, aiding in the everlasting sense of despair that also managed to take hold.

"I am in so way over my head," he sobbed.

It was true. This situation certainly became a real drag. First off he was on his way to some unknown place injured; then he was involved in a car crash which he caused because of his heightened paranoia, and now he was alone, lost, and in the creepiest setting he ever laid eyes on; oh and let's not forget the unremitting state of tribulation his body exhibited. Yeah, definitely not part of the plan he had imagined.

It was times like this he always found his way to one person: his brother. Dean was always the one to comfort him whenever he was upset, or gave encouragement when he was down, or even often humiliated himself and joked to loosen him up whenever he was stressed.

He smiled through his chattering teeth when the memory of a young Dean hooting and hollering in pain traversing through a thorn patch just to be able to retrieve the runaway Frisbee, coming out looking like a modified cactus, popped in his head. His brother, through the good and the bad, always managed to care for him, tease him but in a loving manner, and put his little brother before himself.

His dad, however, was a different story. He didn't want to think about him as the mere thought of him made him cringe with resentment. Maybe his father cared for him as well; it certainly had to be a tough love, but still love. And on a small level Sam agreed that saving people was important, could understand his father's obsession. But what he didn't understand was how he considered it to be more important than his own kids: spending more time on the hunt than making sure his own kids had food on the table or even had decent jackets for winters. Maybe John couldn't see it either. Possibly he was blinded by his ambition and obsession excluding any and everything he encountered. Maybe…it was John who needed the help, the one who needed the saving. But enough was enough!

Sam sat against the rough surface of the trunk for a long time pondering. Continually he would resort to the good memories—though few they may be—and focus on those. In truth, his style of living—his existence practically—could be a whole lot worse. Curled in his ball, he continued to reminisce, because that was the only thing that kept him from taking the final leap into the pit of despair and giving it all up.

The more he thought about his family, the more he thought about the argument that transpired earlier that day. Yes, what his father had told him was unforgivable by all means. But he had said some pretty harsh words to John as well. He couldn't understand his dad's way of doing things, and quite possibly will never understand it, but if he were in his father's shoes and had overheard what his son had felt about him, yeah, he'd probably fly over the top too. Truthfully he was surprised that was all John had done. He'd have thought John would knock him into next week. But as it were, cold and uncaring words escaped.

Sam bit his lip, thinking back to the shocked expression on Dean's face. He could tell Dean was thinking the same thing, only he was subtle about it. A pang of guilt shot through him like a lightning bolt when the imagination of Dean's expression of finding him gone would have been. Knowing his brother, more than likely he'd was trying to get back into his pants to come after him. And that also made him smile. Just the thought of Dean striking up a search party to get him back sort of made him feel all fuzzy inside. He wasn't sure about John at the moment, and really didn't care. If John had cared and actually started looking, that would be news to him.

Besides it wasn't like they'd be able to find him here anyhow.

Sam looked around again, taking in his appearance: dirty grimy and bloody hand, the blood on his shirt, sitting in mud. And then another thought sprouted. _What am I doing here?_

Yeah, he was upset at his family—okay, more like pissed off. But when was someone not ever pissed off at least one person in their family? The more he continued to think—along with getting a massive migraine—the more he began to realize he wasn't ready to leave his brother and father yet. They were stubborn and hard headed at the best of times, but so was he. He ran away with a broken ankle, no money, or even decent clothing, _hello?_ The woods was frightening enough and it was cold outside, along with pesky animals that don't know when to shut up.

So maybe…

Maybe it was time to head back.

Maybe, if he groveled, spit and shined his father's shoes, and cooked dinner for a whole month, all will be forgiven. He was only fifteen years old for Christ's sake. And on drugs—prescribed by a doctor, of course! So of course he wasn't in the right mind to do this. Maybe some day, if all goes well, he'll be lucid enough to think this through and try again. Until then…

Somewhat content and rather nervous for making his decision, Sam shakily stood up, using the rough bark as a base to pull himself up. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward to the side of the mudpit, accidentally stepping on a twig. The noise of snapping the twig in half echoed loudly causing half the forest to stir. Suddenly a band of birds—or what sounded like birds—flew out of a nearby tree.

Sam raised his arms against the flock, stumbling back as they continued to slam into him. He swiped erratically taking another step back. His breath hitched when his foot came down into midair, causing him to lose his balance, and he fell backward into an arc.

His back was the first to hit the declining slope, and his weight propelled his body to flip over backwards on down the rough terrain. Finally he stopped at the bottom of the gorge with a sickening crack prone position, falling unconscious.

-

The inside of the police station was filled with the constant ringing of the phones. The two junior deputies at the counter worked frantically in trying to answer the three phones constantly going off the hook, from their fellow comrades reporting in.

Over in the corner sat the old man waiting to make his claim about the child he just picked up. His chest hurt terribly, and his truck probably was in need of repair, but this was important. After trying to chase down the youngster, he stopped a little ways when he there was no way possible to see through the woods. Doubling back, he hopped back into his truck, thanking his lucky stars when the sputtering automobile pulled off the tree and was able to drive. He absolutely refused to seek medical help first and went straight to the cop's station. There was no way he'd leave the kid out there all by himself; he needed help.

Well, hopefully he would get some help.

So far he'd been at the station waiting for over fifteen minutes, but the guys hadn't given him a chance to state his claim. He had to admit he hadn't seen people answer a phone so quickly in all his years. So he sat somewhat patiently.

However, when the half and hour waiting mark turned up, he became rather impatient. Standing up, he approached the counter. "Excuse meh. I've been waiting for over half an hour, I need some help."

The young cop looked up frazzled. In hysterics, he stated, "I'm sorry sir, but I'll have to take your claim in just a moment."

"But I need ya help now. There's this—"

The phone rang again and the deputy picked it up. "Yes chief…"

Annoyed at the rudeness, the old man turned away, stepping out into the night. "I guess I'll just have to keep looking."

**Ah, there I go again. I can't help myself. Aw, and Sam decided to go back too. I can't give that kid a break, can I? But at least someone knows where Sam is. And now Dean has joined in on the search. Next chapter, gear up, as Dean has something he wants to say to his father and the search continues. Will they find him as now Sam is out of commission and in the midst of some eerie woods God knows where? Stay tuned. I won't keep you waiting like last time, I really promise this time, because I'm almost done. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys. Here it is, the thirteenth. Ooh, I should have posted on Friday, now that would be something? Just kidding. Okay, now it's time to see if they find Sam or not. P.S. Don't hate me!**

The dawn's bright lights were beginning to peak over the horizon when John returned to the hospital burnt-out and overall irritated. He and Officer Page had searched non-stop all night for his runaway son. After many hours of interviewing random strangers and traveling along the roads at a snail's pace, there was still no sign of Sam. The other officers in on the search, many of them went home, whilst the few left were calling into nearby towns with Sam's description.

Anxious to see how his other son was fairing, John lumbered up to the fifth floor. Once he arrived at his son's room, he froze witnessing that his other son was now missing. Letting out a long petulant growl, he turned around and headed to the nearest service desk. Challenging the nurse stationed there with a look of 'I dare you to say no', he snatched up the phone and immediately dialed Page's number, reading off the little paper he pulled out of his back pocket.

There were only two rings before the officer's tired voice was heard, "Page here."

"I need to get a hold of your wife."

"John?"

"Yes. Dean's gone and I'm sure he would be with her. I need the number now," he replied sternly.

"Okay, sure," the officer agreed telling him the number, "And John?"

"Yeah?"

"For your sake and mine, don't use that tone with her…please," Travis asked politely.

"Whatever," John answered rolling his eyes, pressing down the 'popper upper thingy' on the phone and dialing the memorized number.

-

Allie and Dean had been riding in Allie's Jeep Wrangler for most part of the night. Each groggy surviving on at least five cups of coffee and having zero patience after searching all the backroads known to man coming in and out of the town at least three times. But they weren't giving up hope. Allie had decided to head back to the police station when the ringing from her cell blared through the silence that settled between the two occupants.

"Dr. Allison Page," she answered tiredly.

"Dr. Page?"

"Yeah."

"This is John Winchester. Is Dean with you?"

"Yes sir he is. Here," Allie said handing the phone over to Dean.

The nineteen-year old accepted it warily knowing full well who was on the other line. "Dad?"

"What do you think you're doing?" his dad asked brusquely.

Dean huffed. Already agitated at the man, the harsh tone his father gave him just increased his exasperation. "What does it sound like I'm doing? I'm looking for Sammy," he answered with a bit of edge to his tone.

"Don't use that tone with me, young man. I want you to get back to the hospital now. You shouldn't be out at a time like this," John demanded.

"Well if you had only kept your mouth shut then maybe I wouldn't be," Dean spat.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If you had only kept your temper in check for once then we wouldn't have to worry about this, now would we?"

"Dean, you and I are going to have a little chat once this is over."

"Oh why not we have that little chat now, dad?" Dean told him sarcastically, "Because you don't know if this will be over. We can't find Sam and with what you said to him, we may never find him. And that's probably because I have my suspicions that he doesn't want to be found."

John eyed the ceiling imploringly. Sighing, he replied, "Dean I know what I said was mean, but—"

"No buts dad," Dean interrupted, "What you said wasn't just… You don't do that. You don't tell your kid you wished he was never with us or that you'd prefer to drop him off the face of the earth. You can say that to me and it'll bounce right off, but not to Sammy. You know how sensitive he is."

"I know and I'm sorry, but what he said to me was hurtful as well—"

"Yeah I know, but what you said was a whole helluva lot worse."

"Dean, your brother's a stubborn idiot. Yeah he's upset and maybe he's doing this just to get back at us. Who knows, maybe he's just walking it off, letting out his frustration like you said he would. It might be good for him," John carelessly added.

"Oh yeah running away injured and feeling like his family hates him is good for him," Dean retorted.

John shut his mouth. That comment had struck a nerve and very deep one at that. He really hadn't intended for this to get so out of hand and he had to give it to his eldest, his son had a point.

"This is it dad," Dean went on, "You gotta shapen up."

"Dean I understand you're upset with me—"

"That doesn't begin to cover it. I know what he said about you was mean and I understand that you were upset too, but let me remind you of something dad in case you forgot: Sam. Nearly. Died," he enunciated loudly into the mouthpiece, "He nearly died! At a time like that, you shouldn't be saying things like 'Get over yourself' or 'I hate you'. You should be saying things like 'I'm upset, sure, but I still love you'. I mean can you do that?"

"Yes Dean, I can—"

"Oh really? Because I think you need to start practicin' some more. And I mean it. If we ever do find Sam, you better be thinking of some sort of college fund for the kid if you ever want to get back in his good graces. Because if not, then I think it's time to part ways."

John took a step back in utter shock of what his child said to him. He had never heard Dean so angry before.

"I can't stand this anymore. I can't stand being the ref between you too and always doing damage control whenever things get out of hand the few times you are home—"

"Dean, I—"

"No! This is it. I'm dead serious about this. It's time to put the hunt to the side for awhile dad and think about what's important. And if you can't do that then Sam was right all along. We're not a family and we never were. Do the right thing and prove him wrong. Prove to him that you care." He shut off the phone quickly not giving his father the chance of firing back. He panted heavily hardly able to comprehend what he just said to his father.

Allie took the phone from Dean when he appeared on the verge of tears. She gave him a sympathetic look, "Are you okay?"

Still panting, Dean answered curtly, "Yeah. I'm fine. Let's just get to the station so we can find Sam."

"I don't mean to pry Dean. But is that the reason why we're all in this situation?"

The eldest let out a long sigh smiling nervously. "The only thing I can tell you doc is…Dad and Sam never really got along. And this was one of the few times Dad's temper got the best of him... And he said some pretty ugly things to Sam. And Sam…Sam just grew tired of it. Just like me."

"Dean," Allie began tentatively, "If…if you need to get away from him. If he's dangerous—"

"No doc, that's not what I meant. It's fine. He'll come around. It may take him awhile, but he'll come through. He always does."

"Okay," Allie shrugged, "Then I'll just leave it alone then."

"Thank you. You know, let's just go down that road up there instead," he pointed to an approaching side dirt road, "I'm sure we haven't checked that yet."

"Sure."

-

Back at the hospital, John calmly and politely as best he could handed the phone back to the nurse who eyed him curiously. Remaining quiet, he slowly made his way back to the boys' room and sat on the bed closest to the door. His shoulders slumped down mostly because at that very moment it felt like all the worlds' burdens fell onto them.

For nearly twenty years, he had never heard his eldest sound so angry…so critical before. Like a father scolding another person for insulting their kid. He stared blankly at the wall contemplating over what his son just laid on him. Dean's words hit him hard—much harder than taking a bullet to the chest. Basically the message was either he changed, give up his obsession, or he'd lose his boys, his only remaining gifts from Mary, for good.

He on some level could sympathize with Dean for how he felt, especially since his actions caused Sam's motive for running off. And he could understand Sam's drastic action, but Dean was right. It wasn't right for him to say those things, even if he really didn't mean them. And it's not fair to his boys that they do have to live in the certain existence that the life of hunting thrust upon them. He was sorry, no more to it than that.

And the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize Dean was right. Their family didn't really have a functional relationship. He wasn't their father, just their drill sergeant who had no time or toleration for his sons' plans, needs, or heck…lives.

"Damn it," John cursed sliding a hand over his graying hair. "I screwed up."

-

When the dawn's beautiful lights rolled around, the old man decided he had had enough. He had been looking all night roaming back and forth along the stretch of road where the teenager crashed his truck. Occasionally he took a trip into the woods, only stopping when his meager flashlight wouldn't illuminate more than a few feet ahead. His voice became hoarse and extra scratchy after calling for so long and loud, and his worry level reached critical point. He hadn't a clue about why he was so bent-out-of-shape for a kid he barely knew. He supposed there was something about the youngin' that brought out the best in people, especially him.

Still achy from the crash, the man stumbled back to his truck, wondering if his wife had put out a missing report on his behind. He was only supposed to go get a loaf of bread and come back.

Turning the archaic vehicle on, he turned around and sped back towards town. At this point, he was beyond infuriated. The kid needed help. He needed help, and by damn if he wasn't going to get it. If he had to lasso a rope around an officers head and light a fire under his or her ass just so he could get extra assistance, then so be it.

The frenzy at the police station he experienced earlier dulled down considerably. Instead of two officers at the desk now, there were three. With the look of a mad man and the rage of a bull, he stomped up to the counter.

The junior deputy he spoke to earlier backed a step. "C-can I h-help you sir."

"Why yes ya can God Dammit," he half-shouted. Reaching over the counter, he grabbed a fistful of the officer's collar and pulled him up. Immediately the other two officers came forward and tried prying the man off.

"Let go now," the deputy on the left ordered.

The old man refused to loosen his grip. So the deputy tried another approach. "Sir if you release the officer, we'll help you with whatever it is right now."

The old man turned to look at the man, reading 'Jenkins' off the man's nametag. "Good." He released the frightened man. The junior deputy stumbled back taking a seat panting heavily.

Jenkins calmly looked the man in the eye. "Alright now. First off, we have to have your name. What's your name?"

"Elmer Dolittle."

Jenkins donned a surprised look peering down and reading off a piece of paper. "Augustus Elmer Dolittle?"

"Yeah?"

"Your wife Ellie called. She's been worried about you all night. Okay now what seems to be the problem?"

The old man shook his head in frustration. "The problem is you people don't how to do your job. I came in here last night looking for some help."

"Okay with what?" Jenkins asked.

"I was on my way home and I came across this kid on the road. He looked like he needed help. He looked hurt. And he must've been on something, cuz he crashed my truck and took off in the woods. I've been lookin' for him all night."

"Wait a minute," Jenkins exclaimed, "What did this kid look like?"

"I don't know. Real skinny. Had sort of longish dark hair. His clothes were all torn and nasty. If I'd had known any betta', I'd say he'd escaped from the hospital, or possibly the loony bin."

Jenkins looked like he was about to jump up and down doing jumping jacks. "He didn't happen to tell you a name, did he?"

"Nah," Elmer shook his head, "He just said he had to get away from his family. How sad is that?"

"Sir, sir, sir, sir," the officer yammered excitably, "Where exactly did you find him?"

"Near m'farm. About forty-five minutes from here."

"Okay good. Don't go anywhere," Jenkins raced to the radio. Dialing in Page's channel, he called, "Page. Page, you copy?"

Static echoed on the radio-head a second before, "Yes Jenkins. What is it?"

"Page, we got a man here that says he's spotted the Winchester kid. Copy?"

"You sure? How do we know it's not another false lead?"

"He said he rode with him. Said the kid was trying to get as far away from his family as possible. Sound familiar?"

The static echoed again.

"Page?"

"Yeah I'm here," Page's voice echoed, "Keep him there. I'm on my way to get the father. Hang tight. We'll be there in a few minutes."

-

"See, I don't know if I should," Elmer eyed John with dislike.

"Sir please, I need to find my son," John pleaded with the most guilt-ridden face he could muster.

All three stood outside the sheriff's building. After Travis had located John in the boy's hospital room, they hauled tail back to the station, arriving in a record of five minutes. Elmer paced back and forth, anxious, and not entirely sure about revealing to the man his son's last seen location. Both Travis and John rushed up to him demanding to know the whereabouts of the missing teenager, but he was a stubborn fella.

"Sir, with the way that poor boy was…I don't know what ya did or said to him, but—"

"Please you don't understand—"

"What I understand," Elmer interrupted forcibly, "is that boy was fleein' for a particula' reason. He wasn't right in the head. He thought I was gonna do some nasty business to him," he shrieked.

"Elmer please. It's not the father's fault," Travis stepped in, "The child took a nasty reaction to some pain medication he was on and this is the result of that."

Elmer still remained unsure. "I don't know officer. How was it that a kid lookin' like that was able to get past an entire building of people?"

"We don't know. The problem right now is that the boy is missing. He's still injured, and is not psychologically sound at the moment. Please we need your help in tracking him down."

The old man sighed still eying John with uncertainty. "Well, all I can really do is show ya where he crashed m'truck. I don't know where else to show ya, I've been lookin' for him all night."

"That's fine. Just give me a place to start," John exclaimed anxiously.

-

An hour later, they all arrived at the crash site. John and Travis immediately hopped out of their vehicles and ran up to the old man's truck. Elmer exited his truck and slowly pointed at the dented tree. "Right there sirs. We hit right there."

Travis and John maneuvered around the truck's back end jumping over the ditch line and observing the damage. John looked down and started making a chronology of events based on the marks he found in the dirt. Shifting around some dead leaves, he followed the tracks of shoe-prints scurrying off into the woods.

"Ya need to hurry," Elmer called out, "He didn't look too good when I picked him up, and I'm sure he's not doing too good after the crash."

"Okay. It looks like he went north-east and he was running," John surmised. Still observing the tracks, he came to a bad conclusion, "Oh no. The man's right. He really is hurt. We gotta move."

As soon as he said that, a Jeep Wrangler pulled up behind Travis's cop car.

"Travis?"

"It's Allie," Travis muttered, "I'll be right back."

Allie rushed out of the car and towards her husband. She turned around hearing the other door open. "Dean, you stay in the car. That was the deal," she ordered.

Dean gave her a sour look leaving the door open.

"So what's the verdict? Is he here?" Allie asked strolling up to the officer.

"John's taking a look at the tracks right now. We don't know anything more," Travis informed her.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Here," he handed her a walky-talky. "I'm going in with John. Stay here and keep an eye out. I'll radio in if we find anything, and if we do, call in an ambulance. The old man said he wasn't doing good."

"Travis, maybe we should call one in now. I mean we're a long way out and who's to say he doesn't need it now?"

"I get that Allie. But we don't know anything yet. So for the time being, just stay here."

"Fine, but you be careful," she pecked the side of his cheek.

"Will do," he replied lovingly leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Get a room," Dean called out rudely.

Allie turned and gave him a piercing glare.

"Well at least get the show on the road. My brother is still out there," Dean proclaimed.

"No sweat kid," Travis called out running off into the woods, following closely behind John.

The ex-Marine was hunched over, hanging low to the ground, carefully reading the footsteps. Once he felt the presence of the officer behind him, he spoke out loud, "It looks like he was at a fast run. Probably scared out of his wits."

A little ways into the woods, John came to the conclusion that his son slowed down a bit, because the length between the tracks became shorter.

"He slowed down around here, which is good."

"Why?" Page asked.

"Because if he did slow down, it was only because he was tired. Eventually he'll want to take a break, which is really good because that means we'll be able to catch up to him."

Travis gaped in curiosity at the man. He was totally marveled at how fast he could track and come up with specific events that they or anybody else would have no knowledge of.

"That's really good," Travis commented.

"Thanks. That's what happens when you've been in the marines."

"You're a marine?"

"Around twenty-five years ago."

"Oh, what's your job now anyway?"

A small smirk found its way on John's face. He couldn't answer the man really so he decided to ignore him, continuing on in following his child's footsteps. As time went on, the imprinted steps seemed to have been fading. Keeping his cool, John remained low to the ground, using whatever skills he possessed. He moved leaves and dirt, looking for any sort of weird design that didn't match the forest floor.

Eventually the time-warp guy Dean was still planning on murdering reigned supreme again and cranked up the speed-dial. Hours had passed and they were still stuck admiring dirt. John was becoming more anxious by the minute as he felt he was closing in on his son. Doubt continually tried to sneak in the back of his mind, keeping him second-guessing himself, wondering if he lost the trail. But he forced past that, telling himself he was the best there was and there was no way he'd lose his son. Continually re-finding the trail would confirm that and he felt good about it.

Soon the tracks disappeared when he came upon a huge mudpit, surrounded by a line of trees and a huge gulley. Jerking in surprise, he searched around the area, trying to pinpoint the slightest trace. When he couldn't find it, he howled in frustration.

Surprised, Travis exclaimed, "What! What is it?"

"It's gone."

"What's gone? The trail?"

"Yeah. There's nothing. I don't know where to go from here. There's nothing. It's like he dove into the mud and sank," John blurted.

"Okay, well then let's just start going back. Re-check it, see if it leads somewhere else," Travis suggested.

Frustrated that his own abilities could lose a trail, John slowly nodded. "Fine. Let's go."

**See what I mean. Don't hate me. And ooh, Dean said some really stern words there. Oh, and don't worry, Dean won't stay in that car for long. Okay as you've probably seen up near the top there was a mistake (which I'm sure this chappie has many), but the main one about the phone. I couldn't think of what the device was called and the internet was less than helpful. So if anyone could help me out, that would be awesome! Thanks! We've got one more chapter to go. Until then, take care.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Ah, here it is; the final chapter to this story. It's been one helluva ride. And to think this thing started out with a vision of Dean in the shower. Thanks for sticking with me on this and I hope you enjoy it. Peace!!!**

Both gentlemen set out from the last spot they believed contained the last clue to the young Winchester's whereabouts. They had not traveled more than a few feet when a rustling noise from ahead made them stop in their tracks. Both John and Travis listened intently, scanning the area before them. Soon a shadow like figure came into view. In the back of John's mind, he hoped that the figure was his son and that his search was over.

"Sam?" he called out hopeful.

"Nah, it's me," a voice called.

_Nope, wrong son!_

"Dean?"

"Yep." The nineteen year old said limping into the clearing. He swung his bad leg out to take a step, but due to the muddy patch, his feet slid from under him and he landed on his kiester. "Ow," he interjected, mustering up a displeased look.

John and Travis rushed forward, "You okay?"

Dean nodded raising his hand motioning to his father to help him stand. The man obliged pulling the boy up. "What're you doing out here? You shouldn't be out here, not like this. Your leg—"

"Is fine," Dean interposed bitterly.

"How did you get here?"

Wiping his grimy hands on his jeans, Dean answered, "You're not the only one who can track."

"Why would Allie let you go?" Travis asked.

"She didn't. I saw my window of opportunity to get out here and help when she decided to patch up the old geezer about an hour and a half ago."

Travis immediately took out his walky-talky.

"Trust me, she probably doesn't even know I'm here."

"Oh I doubt that," Travis countered pressing the button on the side of the device, "Allie. Allie. Come in, copy." He released the lever and received nothing but static. So he tried again. "Hmmm, I hope we can get a decent signal out here."

Dean turned to his father when the officer stepped away from the group in trying to establish a good connection. "Dad, what's the verdict?"

John shook his head, "So far nothing. We lost the trail."

"Huh? Dad, that's not possible."

"Dean, before you say anything—"

"No. No matter what, there is always a trail. Clues never fail to show up at least until we find what we're looking for. They might be hard to find, but that doesn't mean they're not there. You just gotta look harder. Come on Dad, you told me that."

Still a little cross over his eldest's stern lecture from earlier, John couldn't help but marvel at his son's tenacity. It just showed that the boy cared a lot for his little brother and would no doubt attempt to stop a stampede of raging bulls if it meant protecting him til the ends of the earth. And truth was, Dean was right. They lost the trail in the mudpit, so he'll have to head back there.

"Allie. Allie, come in over." Travis spoke. Switching to different channels in case he hadn't had the device on the correct one, he continued to call his wife. Finally after the sixth or seventh attempt, the sounds of static broke and Allie's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Travis?"

"Yeah Allie, it's me," Travis answered moving the device around in trying to establish a better frequency.

Allie came on again. "Travis! About time! I've been trying to radio you in for over an hour and a half."

"Sorry honey. The channels must've got switched—".

"Yeah whatever. Dean is MIA, copy? MIA. The little twerp ran off."

"I know. We got him here."

"Oh good, tell him I'm gonna kick his little teenage ass. He broke our deal."

"Eh, I don't have to," Travis replied catching Dean's half-guilty expression as he walked past him. "We decided to turn back. We…hang on," he paused seeing the Winchesters head back. "Uh, Allie. I call ya back."

"Travis, don't you dare—"

He shut off the device following closely behind the limping teenager. Immediately they started at the tracks they saw before they lost the trail. After completing several more searches in and around the mudpit, John straightened up, clearly disappointed. "There's nothing."

Dean stood up. "No we're close."

"How can you say that Dean? I've got nothing else to go on. It's like something just picked him up and flew off."

Dean hobbled closer to his father and looked him square in the eye. "Dad, trust me on this. My gut instinct is telling me we haven't lost the trial and that's he's close; that he's somewhere around here."

"There are no more tracks. It's hard to pinpoint a direction if there are no more tracks."

"I'm serious. I wouldn't be telling you otherwise. It's like I can feel him."

Unable to register what that meant, John looked away, glancing at other parts of the woods to see if he had missed something—though they had only overlooked everything twice.

"What about that ledge there?" Dean asked pointing at the little gulley.

John produced a skeptic look, "Dean, please. He wouldn't be stupid enough to go down there with a bad leg."

Dean peered at his father incredulously, "Dad the old man said he ran off at night. How the hell could he have _seen_ that _at night_?"

A sudden panic hit home at that comment. Instantly all three rushed to the edge and finally laid eyes on the missing boy sprawled on his belly some hundred feet below.

At the sight of his son, the innate loving father woke up inside John and he found himself launching forward and running haphazardly down the slippery slope. "SAMMY!" Ignoring the others' cries for him, John continued on leaping over fallen logs, sliding through wet detritus, and dodging small trees. Nothing would stop him from getting to his boy.

Jumping off the incline, the momentum forcing him to fall onto his knees, he scrambled back up and ran over to the teenager. Panic flooded through him at seeing his son incredibly pale, scratched all over, and lying very still.

"Sammy," John called gently, his hands quivering. The tremors in his hands intensified when he gently prodded the boy's cheek and felt how cool they were. "Sammy, come on son," he muttered, almost pleading.

"John!"

"Dad, is he alright?" Dean called from up at the ledge. He was partly over the ledge, but the officer kept a hand on his shoulder, enforcing that he stay where he was.

John stayed quiet. Softly lifting Sam's shoulder and rolling over, Sam let out a few moans. Relief coursed through him and he let out a long overdue breath. Those moans were like the ringing bells of heaven; they meant his son was still alive.

"HE'S ALIVE," he bellowed up at the two above.

Both Dean and Travis let out relieved gasps. Dean slumped back against the dirt whilst Travis began radioing into his wife.

Taking his jacket off, he laid it over his son's chest, and took him up into his arms. Rubbing the sides of his arms up and down trying to produce some heat, John gently shook him, hoping to get a response. "Sammy. Sammy. Come on boy, wake up. Please Sammy. Wake up."

When Sam remained unresponsive, his head lolling into the crook of his elbow, John felt incredibly remorseful, like all the years of guilt and repressed emotions falling on his shoulders. In a way, it made him feel vulnerable—so much so he felt the need to say, "I'm sorry Sam. I'm sorry for everything."

Despite Sam still unconscious, he continued, looking on and surveying the scenery. "I'm a crappy father. I know it. You know it. Hell, even Dean knows it. He even told me so. But I never meant for things to get this far."

Tears began to form at the brim of his lids the more he thought about what to say. "You were always trying to tell me. And I never listened to you…of course you hardly ever listen to me, but that's beside the point. It's my entire fault. I was the one driving you away, when I should've been trying to keep us together. I hunt vile and nasty things and that's all I can think of to do. I just never realized you were caught in the middle of it. So please, please. I'm sorry."

"D-dad?" A strained voice whispered.

John instantly looked down and saw Sam's eyes were partly open. His green irises were so calm and tranquil. "Oh thank god."

"Dad?"

"Yeah Sammy it's me," John smiled.

The teenager coughed. "You said you were sorry?"

"I am. God I am. I never should have said those things to you. I didn't mean any of them. Never have I wished to leave you somewhere. Not ever. You're my boy. The only part of Mary I have left. And I'm sorry for driving you away. I am a terrible father…"

"Dad—"

"No, I'm sorry," John cut him off, "Please! Please forgive me."

Sam stared in disbelief, mostly stunned. He looked his father straight in the eyes and saw the distraught look in them and saw not one bit of farce. But then he also saw something else too: hope. "Y-you're sorry?"

"Yeah Sammy I am."

"I'm dead, aren't I?" the teenager retorted.

"No."

"Oh then I've got to be dreaming," he croaked.

John couldn't help but laugh.

"I forgive you dad," Sam whispered, "And I'm sorry too. I was w-wrong `bout us…not…being…a family. I w-w-was—" he shivered.

"Shhh, it's okay. I know." Cradling his son closer, John knelt his chin down onto Sam's.

"Helps coming."

"Okay," Sam closed his eyes, finally at peace with his father.

From afar, Dean watched as the two talked. He couldn't hear anything, but given how his dad was smiling and holding Sam close, he knew a bonding was in order. Automatically relieved, he sat back and continued to watch.

More static sounded and Allie's voice once again resumed the walky-talky. "Travis, I'm stuck. There's no way I can get through the brush."

Travis pressed the button, "What?"

"I. Am. Stuck." The radio sounded, "Though I would like to be heroic and all, but this is just not working. My foot is caught."

"Okay, uh, just hang tight. I'll see what if we can possibly bring him to you," Travis replied, clicking off the button. He turned to Dean. "She can't get through."

Dean nodded, "I heard. In that case, if we gotta carry him out of here, then let's do it." Standing up, using a tree for balance, Dean called down, "DAD!"

John looked up at being called. "What!"

"Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman can't get through to us. We're gonna have to bring him up to them," Dean hollered, "Can you move him?"

Uncertain observing the condition of his boy, John replied, "Uh, I'll try."

Travis moved forward beginning to carefully move down the slope. "I'm going down to help. You stay here."

"No duh Ace," Dean retorted.

John waited for the officer to arrive down the incline before he attempted to move. Once Travis jumped off the slope and stood by his side, John set to work in sliding his hands under Sam's back and legs. He lifted, but immediately froze when Sam screamed out in pain.

"What! What is it?" John shrieked. "Is it your side?"

Sam gasped, "N-no, it's m-my shoulder."

Peering at the limb and noticing the awkward angle at the top, both men concluded it was dislocated. John looked up at Travis. "We gotta pop it back in. You know how to do that?"

"Yes sir I do. Had my fair share."

"Alright," John looked down at Sam, "Okay Sam. I want you to look at me. We have to take care of your shoulder. So just look at me."

Sam's eyes widened, the elements of fear and shame emanating vividly.

Not wanting to waste anymore time especially with his son appearing apprehensive, he nodded to the officer to get it over and done with. Instantly, Travis placed his hands on the shoulder. Sam whimpered at first then gave a mighty screech when the man gave the shoulder a good twist, popping the head back into it's socket. Several more whines and whimpered echoed from the kid as he burrowed his head back into his father's chest.

"It's okay, now. See it's over," John tried to reassure, stroking his son's matty locks, "The pain will go away in a minute. Alright, let's go."

Sliding his arm further down his boy's back, John lifted him up gracefully, whilst Travis picked up Sam's arm and draped it over his chest. Taking nice and steady steps, the men worked fruitfully in climbing the over-sized hill. Using trees and logs as anchors and often themselves, they continued to stagger upwards while Dean coached from above, guiding them on what better direction to head in. Eventually they made it to the top where a mettlesome Dean greeted them.

"Hey Sammy," he called to his barely conscious sibling.

"Hey Dean," Sam answered feebly.

Running a hand through Sam's hair, Dean muttered sternly, "Don't you ever do that again."

Sam produced a half-smile, "I won't."

Then all three set out carrying the youngest Winchester out of the woods and back into the safety. John carried his precious bundle tightly. It was his one and only duty to carry, love, and protect his child and that was what he intended on doing.

- **And voila, chapter fourteen. And my God, this was a sappy chapter. I think this was the sappiest I have ever written, but I needed some form of closure. Hope it was okay! The epilogue's next, so keep going.**


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

_Three weeks later:_

The outside was set just right. The sun sitting high up in the nice clear blue sky, shone down intensely; enough to where a person without his or her two-hundred SPF sunblock will end up appearing like a nice steamy lobster. The temperature was set around mid-eighties, not too muggy or gloomy, or even somewhat miserable. A soft breeze blew through stirring and rustling up the trees, and surrounding hay and cornfields. The stalks of hay were bent at a slant. So if you were to get hay-fever easily, then you would be screwed. And it's scary this entire paragraph contained a weather report!

Several picnic tables were set up arranged in a neat box, taking up a good amount of space in the Dolittle's back yard. The tables themselves were decorated in a sort of St. Patty's day and July Fourth cross-over; party favors were meticulously scattered all over them. Red balloons hung on every other rail-post that was part of the wooden walkway that led up to the Dolittle's Victorian era farm house.

The back door opened and out came Dean carrying two plates full of food with enough meat products to make PETA have a panic-attack. He remained holding the door open, revealing many people and loud chatter inside. A few seconds later, his little brother came out on crutches. After Sam was in the clearing, Dean let go of the door and they both limped slowly down the wooden ramp toward the tables.

"Here ya go Sammy. One good serving of all the heart-attacks on buns you can get," Dean stated cheerfully plopping the dipping plate down on the table.

"Thanks Dean," Sam replied gratefully, setting his crutches against the table and taking a seat. "Is Dad coming out?"

"I don't know. He just got here. He'll probably be out in a few minutes."

"Okay. I just hope he found us a better quality home this time."

"You and me both brother," Dean responded taking a chuck out of his double-patty burger.

Sam looked around at the backyard. It had a nice circular arranged flower bed mixed with exotic looking flowers centered in the middle with a cobbled-stone patterned perimeter. And entire row of fancy shrubbery topped with humongous sunflowers lined the outside of the house and extended along a nice path to a refurbished mahogany gazebo set on the border of the woods.

"Yahoo!" he heard a man yell. Looking over by the back patio, he saw Elmer fighting against a storming blaze on his grill. The man swatted erratically at the smoke billowing from it. Sam couldn't help but try to repress a laugh.

He turned and overlooked the rest of the backyard or the whole forty-acres of it; admiring the red dilapidated barn containing any and all farm equipment known to man. A shed was built beside the barn and to Dean's surprise was home to a 1970 Dodge Charger that was rusty and run-down beyond repair. It took Dean all morning to stop crying!

The youngest Winchester stopped observing the spectacular scenery and turned back to his plate. He hoped his dad had found a decent style home like this. Here, at this farm, he couldn't describe the feeling he had towards it. If anything, he would probably say it was peace.

The following weeks after Sam was discovered in the woods, the only place they could call home was the hospital. Sam needed extra observation and other procedures done after suffering from a mild case of hypothermia and exhaustion. He had to undergo another surgery to re-fix the fracture in his ankle after it became disfigured from the extra stress he put on it while running away. He didn't complain, because he knew it was his fault.

Dean absolutely refused to leave his side and so shacked up in a very uncomfortable chair every night, in which case he became the whiny bitch. But he always kept his cool whenever a hot nurse came in to check on the patient, before his irritability caught up with him again. Allie appreciated the supervision, and so as a treat, kindly gave him permission to sneak a few fast-food meals in. And that shut him up.

John, since knowing Dean was keeping vigil, set out to find his family another decent home. Since money was tight, he had to settle for a cheap suburban house several towns over. Plus with all their essentials buried inside the old home, he had to budget wisely in order for his sons to have proper clothing and materials. Obviously since money doesn't grow on trees (even if they are made of paper and paper comes from trees), John realized that he would have to put his gambling skills back to full use—considering pulling off the credit card scam wouldn't be a good idea since he was hanging around the authorities. After scoring the amount his rusty technique procured, he was in the clear; just so as long as his kids and the cops don't find out, then he wouldn't have to worry.

The invitation to a summer get-together picnic went out two weeks after Sam was discovered. Ellie, Elmer's wife, was so thrilled that everything had turned out alright she decided to hold a barbeque picnic. Everyone from the police force to some of the staff at the hospital was invited. With the way Ellie glared down everyone at the station over her home-cooked potato casserole, no one dared to decline.

Of course, the police force decided to make it a B.Y.O.B., and an all around pork-fest.

Soon a whole parade of people with plates and beer bottles (with some people in both hands) filed out of the door. Some of them racing past the 'instant-death smoke' as it made it's way across the walkway. Sam and Dean looked on at all the cheery faces while many took their seats.

Ellie—dressed in `70's flares and a leather beaded vest complete with a flamboyant headband overtop pillow white frizzy hair— came out after the group with a big bowl of potato salad and a large serving spoon. Spirited and just as caring as her husband, Ellie was like the proverbial grandmother: tends to hobbies such as knitting and gardening, stuck with the traditional cooking of homemade meals, and shared advice whenever possible. But she was different in that she refused to live out of the seventies. She said the best time she had was at the disco joint in downtown Chicago; and that no matter how old she was she could still do the 'scuba diver'. But since she had grown older—much older—she had to settle down into the traditional life she always knew and loved.

Ellie came behind the people sitting at the table offering a spoonful or two of her salad. Some of the cops at the table goofed off, joking about a recent pull-over drug search, many of the others laughing hysterically.

"And then he said to the guy," one of the officers jeered, "alright now pull your pants down. Why, the guy asked. Jerry looked at him funny and said 'what cha' afraid of jackass? Afraid of me seeing yur peanut-sized junk?"

The guys at the table began to laugh but shut their traps— caught by surprise— when Ellie smacked the guy upside the head with her spoon, leaving a large smear on the guy's dark hair.

"Watch your language," she scowled. "There are children here," she pointed at Sam and Dean, who glanced at one another. And soon the whole table howled with laughter as the guy wiped the back of his head off with a napkin.

Ellie smiled setting the big bowl down. Taking a seat beside Sam, her smile widened revealing several cracked and yellow-stained teeth. "Hey there youngin'. I hear you gave my husband quite a time."

Sam gulped down his food rather quickly, "Yes I did ma'me and I'm sorry for that."

"Oh, don't be. It gave us a good reason to finally get a new truck. Plus he was out of the house for a whole night; that was like a blessing. Usually it's hard to get him out of the house for more than ten minutes."

"I'm sure your sister would agree," Sam eyed her nervously.

"Nah, boy. I'm just jerkin' yur chain. It's a blessing that you are alright now and so is my hubby. Now don't go gettin' yerself inta anymore trouble now, ya hear?"

"Yes ma'me."

"Good boy. Now I made some key lime pie—"

"Pie!" Dean piped ecstatically.

"That's right. Would ya like some?"

"Oh would I?" Dean hopped up ready to follow the woman, until Ellie pushed him back down.

"Nah, ya don' need to worry. I'll bring it out. You boys both are still on the mend."

"Okay," Dean agreed sitting back down, still working on his over-sized burger.

"Hello boys!" Allie came up behind them scratching both their heads. Simultaneously looking up, they prepared for the worst. "You know there's soy in that burger Dean?"

Suddenly both Dean and Sam choked.

Allie laughed slapping both their backs. "Just kidding. Man you two need to loosen up."

"Haha, I only believed you cuz its tastes kinda funny," Dean countered.

"Yeah that's cuz I spit in it. You don't mind do ya?" Allie retorted which made Sam laugh.

"I'm done now," Dean put down his food.

"Dean. Dean. Dean, you're just too gullible," Allie beamed walking away, "Enjoy your meal boys."

Sam sniggered incessantly. He was having a hard time trying to stop. He turned away and saw his dad exit the back door. "Hey look it's Dad."

"See I told ya he'd be out in a few minutes."

John joined his sons with his plate in one hand and a nice big plate of key lime pie, giving them a cheery look. "Hey boys. Enjoying the picnic?"

"Yes sir," they answered in unison. Dean particularly, eying the dessert with delight and possibly with an intent on mauling.

"No Dean, look away," Sam yelled playfully covering his brother's eyes. "Don't look at it."

"Shove off Sammy," Dean pulled off the hand.

"It's for your's and the pie's own good."

"Boys," John warned.

"Sorry sir," they answered again in unison.

"Now for that you can't have any."

"What!"

"Come on, that's not fair."

John smirked, "Well, I guess in order to get back into my good graces, you two can only get some of this pie if—and only if…you can get it from me first," John joked holding the dessert above his head.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, "Get him."

Immediately they hopped up. Dean hobbled across the table lunging at his father, who in turn jumped up from the table laughing. Dean hopped down steadily, wary of his leg and limped hurriedly over to his father. Approaching the man who held the pie high over his head, he began jumping up trying to catch it, all the while John dodged left and right.

"Come dad, that's not fair. Give it! Still got a bad leg, ya know?" Dean protested, still hopping up and down on his good leg.

"Doesn't matter. Ya can't get to it, ya can't to it," John teased.

"Hey dad!"

Both elder Winchesters turned and saw Sam standing on top of the table.

"Catch me," Sam said before leaping into the air. Without any time to do anything, John opened his arm and caught the kid letting a great 'oomph' as they landed on the grass, and the pie took flight from his hand.

"NOOOOO," Dean cried out jumping forward and sailing through the air. He landed on the ground with his arms out-stretched and the pie landed smoothly into his hands. He let out a great sigh of relief.

"Nice catch there dude," John congratulated.

Dean turned a heavy scowl to his giddy little brother, "Dude, it would have been your _ass_ if something happened to this pie."

Sam eyed him innocently all the while unable to stop giggling. Still giddy about their round of playful family antics, all three gorged themselves into the creamy thickness of the pie. Feeling somewhat guilty, Sam looked around at the other people, "Shouldn't we leave some for somebody else?"

"Nah," Dean answered taking another large bite.

"No. Cuz the lady inside said this was for you two, sooo…no," John told him.

"Okay, well by all means," Sam dug in some more.

After the pie was devoured with not a single crumb left, the Winchesters sat back on the grass feeling their insides tingle with delight, either that or their stomachs were working overtime. Allowing a few minutes of genuine happiness to pass, John decided now was the time to break the mood. "Hey Sam. You mind going into the house and getting us some napkins? And get yourself a drink while you're at it."

"Huh? Me?" his son looked at him as if he had gone senile.

"Yes, you. Please."

A little perturbed, Sam slowly stood up and limped towards the table, grabbing his crutches. "Yeah. Yeah. Ask me, the disabled here. That's real nice. Why can't you get your own napkins, but no gotta ask the crippled," he muttered bitterly to himself limping away.

Dean gave his father a curious glare, "Uh oh, so I guess this means it's talk time."

"Yeah… well," John sighed deeply, "I think I just need to explain myself."

Dean raised his eyebrows, appearing a little nervous, "Over our last lovely little lecture."

"Uh huh," his dad muttered sternly, "About that."

Dean bowed his head down.

"You were right. I acted like a real ass," John replied causing Dean to jerk his up in alarm.

"I have no explanation for my actions," John continued, "None. I can't say if they were influenced by guilt for leaving you, or for shock for not knowing what happened to you guys when I came home… or fear when I saw both of your conditions. Because honestly I don't know. I overreacted with this whole thing and that I can admit to. Probably because I never imagined anything bad would happen to you guys. I thought by keeping away for awhile at times, I'd be protecting you. It just goes to show that even I can be wrong sometimes. Turns out I was hurting you more by not being there, but now will be different. I don't know how different. But it will be, I swear."

Dean listened intently, now seeing for the first time the true face of his father. "That's great to hear dad, but I don't get why Sam couldn't be here to hear this."

Looking up and being rather hesitant, John answered, "It's hard with your brother sometimes. Because you understand how I work, how I do things…but he doesn't. I guess…I guess when it comes to Sammy, I missed out on my chance. And it's much easier to ignore than it is to deal with it. That's why it was necessary for you two to look after one another. Why it was necessary for you two to be so close. And when I see him with you, and it's like a gut feeling, I know he doesn't need me. I screwed up too much already. And I can learn to deal with that."

After hearing the last part, Dean snorted shaking his head. "You want to know something, Dad?"

He waited until his father's full attention was on him, "The time just before he went into cardiac arrest and before all the crazy happenings that can only happen to Sammy went down, he called for you."

"What!"

"Yeah, he did. He didn't cry out for me. Didn't cry out for Jesus. He cried for you."

"But why?" The impact of that statement left him a little breathless… and a little guilty.

"I don't know, but he did. So you know what that means Dad? Means he doesn't hate you. He may be a little ticked off at you, but he doesn't hate you. That's pretty much why he's been in such a tizzy lately. He's scared that you'll be gone and leave us alone. He does need you."

"Dean I don't," John announced, still trying to recover from his momentary shock,

"Uh…how does this make you feel?"

"Honestly I'm in the same boat as him," Dean shrugged, "That's just facts."

Silence settled between the two men. John was still trying to overcome the information he just heard. Dean waited patiently, strumming through and breaking off a few pieces of grass, and began twirling them around his fingers.

As the silence wore on, Dean decided to break it. "So does this mean, you'll be making hunting a part-time job?"

John let out a great sigh, "I can't guarantee anything Dean, not with your mother's killer still out on the loose…But I suppose I can, as you put it, 'shapen up'. Make it not so tense between us all the time."

Dean nodded at that, still picking at the grass.

"And did you really mean it? Part ways if it were to get bad?"

"You betcha," Dean answered automatically, "Dad, you know I've always looked out for Sammy, always have, always will. You tend to remind me to do that everyday and you don't have to. And if something threatened him in any way, you bet I would do it."

"But there are times, Dad, where I feel like I can't do it," Dean continued, "Like I'm not strong enough. And at those times, I really want you home. I know that the family business is important. It is important- I have no problem with that. But after all that's happened, I have to side with Sammy on this one—family is more important than the job."

Becoming rather emotional over their little conversation, John sat up straighter. "You're right. You two are absolutely right. Family is more important. And I guess it will stay that way for a while…Now I won't say I won't go back to hunting. I can't make that promise. But I can promise that I'll be here more often, take care of you guys like a real father should."

Smiling, Dean said, "Good to hear."

A small squeak sounds catching their attention, where they saw Sam standing there with a hand full of napkins, his crutches on the ground, but with a look pure content on his face. Apparently the little snot overheard them.

Happily Sam limped fast and hugged his father.

John smiled mightily embracing his son, "Since apparently you heard the whole thing, I can say I'll try to make things better too."

"Oh goody, but you're still not off the hook."

"At this point, I don't think I'll ever be."

"Thanks Dad. That really means a lot. And I'm still really sorry I took off. I know you're still pissed at me for that."

"Well, honestly kiddo, I would've been less pissed off if you had waited to run away when you were in a better condition," John replied causing his son to laugh.

Dean cringed. Hardly able to handle the bonding moment, he stood up and walked away.

After that little heart-to-heart, Dean needed a beer. It was too much over-share and was definitely a hostile takeover of chick-flick territory. Even though he knew was underage, he figured sneaking one wouldn't hurt. He located a beer bottle on a far off table. Glancing around, he approached it stealthily. Just one good swig…

-

"What's the matter Elmer? Allie asked when both a flustered Elmer and his wife approached her determined.

"I've lost my piss-bottle," he stated anxiously.

Allie paused, "I'm sorry, you're what?"

"His damn piss-bottle," Ellie reiterated. "Apparently he still does the nasty habit of urinating in beer bottles as a method of keeping our son out of the beer. Only he forgets that our son _moved out fifty years ago_," she raised her voice eying her husband with disgust.

"Eww, Allie muttered.

"And I can't remember where I set it down at."

"Um, okay. Don't panic," she glanced around at all the beer bottles on the tables, "…let's just start—"

The sound of spitting out liquid and sputtering caught their attention and they all turned to see Dean hunched over gagging with a beer bottle in his hand.

"Found it!" Elmer replied gleefully.

-

And sadly the picnic soon came to an end and it was time to say the dreaded goodbyes. Allie and her husband, plus Elmer and his wife all joined in on group hugs, making sure the little darlings wouldn't escape. A scowl seemed to have permanently plastered Dean's face while the group completed their departing farewells. Elmer had apologized several times for the little mishap earlier, but Dean wasn't going for it. He knew the man secretly was laughing his ass off behind his back. But that's okay, he had retaliated in his own way by making sure he used all of their toothpaste in the bathroom.

"Now you make sure you stay off that foot," Allie told Sam, "And definitely make sure you come by for a visit. I'll miss you guys."

"Me too. You take care now, ya hear?" Both Elmer and Ellie said simultaneously.

"Come on guys, it's time to leave," John called from the car. Everyone gave one last hug and salute before the two boys made their way into the car.

Somewhat relieved that he was back into the Impala again, Dean slumped in the passenger seat. He looked out the window as the car began to roll. Everyone on the outside waved. He waved back, hoping at least he'll be able to see these people one last time. It was good for Sammy as well. His friend couldn't make it to the picnic, but at least he had some other friends there he managed to get along with. Who knows if Sam was ever going to be able to keep in contact with his other friends at school, since they were starting a relatively new life now.

But in the long run, it was cool that the tension between the three Winchesters was at an all time low now. There was nothing but good smiles and playful antics, and that was how it should have been. Dean was so glad his dad and brother were getting along nicely now; so glad the two weren't at loggerheads with one another…but who knows how long that'll last. So until that time, Dean was just going to enjoy the peace and quiet as much as possible.

"Hey dad, where're we going?" Sam asked.

"A couple towns over."

"Where, a couple towns over?"

"You'll know when we get there."

"Why can't you just tell us? Why does it always have to be a mystery?"

"Because I'm your father and I don't have to tell you everything."

"Why not?" Sam protested.

"Because I said so."

"That's not fair!"

Dean huffed slamming the back of his head against the seat, "Dammit."

The end.

**Hey guys, that's it. Of course, I couldn't let the sappiest end with the last chapter. And I know the piss-part was gross, but I couldn't help it. I had to mess with Dean one last time. I'm hoping this chappie's ending sufficed and I certainly do hope that you enjoyed it. I really wanted to end it with a happy ending, despite all the sadness and horrible drama this fic entailed.**

**I want to thank each and everyone who reviewed, alerted, pm'd, favorited, and all that jazz. I truly valued your reviews and will cherish your words of inspiration and encouragement. Especially during my time of unreasonable tardiness. And an incredible thanks goes out to you guys once again for sticking with me and waiting so patiently. I do hope to hear from you in the future! Catch ya on the flip side! Ciao!**


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